


Scarlet

by badwolfofbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love Triangles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 35,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfofbakerstreet/pseuds/badwolfofbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is in love, that's for sure. But who does he love more? His favorite consulting criminal, or his favorite blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who are you?

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from the song Scarlet by In This Moment. I was listening to the song and originally felt it was a Johnlock song, but then after listening I decided it was more Sheriarty. But then upon listening further, it inspired me to write this fic here. So I hope you enjoy! It's my first fic on here.

He wasn't exactly sure when it all began, just one day it simply was. He woke up and he was there, smiling at him, and he decided he liked it. He met the man in parking garage while he was on a case for the Yard. He walked around the winding pathways until he reached the third floor and he was there, standing in the middle of the roadway like a human road block.

"Who are you?" He asked, tilting his head at the well dressed male.

"Name's Jim." He voice betrayed none of the wonderment behind his eyes, "You're Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah. A fan are you?" Sherlock's eye roll was very apparent in his tone, "If you're quite done standing in the middle of the road, I'll be carrying on with my work."

"Why is my standing in the road effecting your work?" Jim asked playfully, clearly testing his boundaries with the already annoyed detective.

"Normally it wouldn't, but you happen to be standing in the exact spot where a man was shot last week, and I need to stand there." Sherlock walked up to him, and they both looked down at the pale cement beneath their feet simultaneously.

"Oh, whoops." He said with a giggle and stepped one foot to the side. Sherlock furrowed his brow at the man and stepped forward into the faded red stain covering the pale cement roadway.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me?" He asked, almost confused, almost.

"I like to watch." Jim sang and Sherlock darted his eyes to the man's face, before quickly reverting his gaze back to the ground and clearing his throat. This man was flirting.

"Well watch from over there." Sherlock didn't ask, he commanded, "You're in my way."

"Wouldn't wanna be in your way." He laughed, backing up to the nearest parked car and jumping onto the bonnet, "I'll be right here, Holmesy." Sherlock scoffed and looked at him, Jim crossed his legs and set his elbow on his knee, bringing his fist up to rest beneath his chin, he watched the detective with a smile and a gleam in his eye.

"Right, then." He mumbled, and set to work, picking out abnormalities in the concrete and turning about every which way to find the trajectory and where the bullet ended up, "It wasn't inside the victim..." He kept mumbling to himself as he turned about, Jim smirked at him. It was almost as if Sherlock Holmes was dancing with air as he searched the area for the bullet. Jim's eyes flicked to a pillar across the garage just as Sherlock found it. He walked to the square concrete pole and touched it lightly, his hands as light as a feather as he traced the hole. The bullet was gone, he smirked. "Someone's gone through an awful lot of trouble to make sure I can't figure out who killed Marvin Smith." He said aloud and Jim's ears perked up, he lifted his head from his hand.

"What was that?" He asked, "What did you say?" Sherlock began laughing and made an invisible line with his eyes. This line led him to an abandoned building across the street, where there was a broken window, currently covered by a tarp.

"Tell me, Jim, if that building is abandoned, why isn't that window boarded up like the rest?" He pointed across the street and Jim turned, upon turning back he had a bright smile.

"I don't know, Holmesy, you tell me. You're the detective." He said almost teasingly.

"Well it's obvious, the shooter was there in that window when Mr. Smith came into the garage. Once he hit the exact spot you were standing on, he was killed."

"Yes... Clearly." Jim sounded bored, "But who dunnit?"

"His brother." He said, and Jim laughed out loud.

"How could you possibly know that from the trajectory of the bullet? It's impossible."

"His brother is an expert marksman, just returned home from Afghanistan."

"Why would his brother shoot him? Post traumatic stress disorder?" He sang and Sherlock walked closer to him, stopping only centimeters from his still crossed legs.

"No, because he slept with his wife while he was abroad, and he returned home from the war early, in an attempt to surprise the love of his life, he didn't tell her. He walked in on the two of them and feigned acceptance. But then he planned his brother's death, for weeks, until finally, last week, he got the chance he'd been waiting for."

"Seriously? You got all that from--" Sherlock cut him off by holding a hand to his mouth and rolling his eyes.

"No I got that from the visit to his brother's house I made an hour ago. This was just proof that only an expert marksman could have made the shot." Sherlock smirked and uncovered Jim's mouth, leaning in, "Impressed? Still a fan?"

"You know it." Jim smiled and popped the gum Sherlock hadn't noticed him chewing. With a wink Jim stood up, still closer to Sherlock than he had anticipated. Sherlock's hair stood on end from the close proximity of the man he barely knew, and he found himself inching closer. He wanted to know this stranger more, mostly because he couldn't read him like he could everyone else. Luckily Jim looked up at him and smiled, brushing off his coat, "You wanna get some celebratory dinner?"

"I don't usually eat too much..." Sherlock turned his head to search the garage, for what, he didn't know, "But I suppose I can make an exception this once." 

"Perfect." Jim smiled, and it wasn't the same nice smile from before, this one was borderline predatory. Sherlock wasn't sure if it scared him or enticed him. He went for the latter and followed Jim out of the garage. 

They sat at a table in a small restaurant and Sherlock sighed, peering at the walls around him. He let his eyes flick to Jim every so often, just to check if the man was still staring at him, he was. The adoration in his eyes spoke wonders, he knew this man had probably been following him for quite some time. Gathering information and waiting for the perfect moment to approach him. 

"So... Jim..." Sherlock spoke slowly, creasing his brow, searching for the right way to ask, "How..." His eyes flicked up to Jim's face, "Exactly how long have you been watching me?"

Jim laughed lightly and sat back, tilting his head at the detective, "A while." His answer was honest, it almost threw the detective for a loop.

"A while?" He repeated solely for his own benefit, "Right. Why?" 

"You interest me, Sherlock Holmes." He replied, the smile still stretched across his face, "I just wanted to get to know you better. And following you seemed to be the only way. You're almost unapproachable." 

"True." Sherlock admitted, though he didn't know why. He could tell the man sitting across from him wasn't being completely honest, "What part did you play in the death of Marvin Smith?" He took a shot in the dark, Jim's smile stayed.

"Oh you're a clever one." He leaned in and interlocked his fingers on the table top, "I just gave Sebastian Smith the resources he needed to take out his brother and disappear. But I have a feeling you already figured that out, what with your science of deduction."

"Yes." Sherlock replied curtly and looked down at Jim's hands, "Yes... Well I must be going now. I've got a criminal to catch."

"No you don't." He sang his reply, reaching his hand out to take Sherlock's, "Stay here a tad longer. Just to humor me." Sherlock looked down at Jim's hand upon his own and for some reason didn't pull back. The feeling of their hands together made his breath hitch and his brow moisten. What was this new sensation? He couldn't be feeling anything close to attraction for a criminal.

"If it will get you to stop following me, sure." Was his reply, though for reasons unbeknownst to him, he wasn't sure he wanted Jim to stop following him. He might want to keep him around.

"If that's what you want." Jim smirked, Sherlock could see the knowledge in his eyes, he wasn't some dumb bystander, "I'll leave you alone." He went to move his hand away but Sherlock grasped it tightly, not looking up from their now intertwined fingers, he let his brows knit together in an effort to understand his own motives.

"I..." He hesitated, "I'm not sure." He breathed deeply before locking eyes with Jim, "Don't... Stop."

"Sherlock Holmes," He began, running his thumb across the detective's knuckles, "When I'm done with you, you'll be saying that for a completely different reason." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock never listens to his older brother, in fact one might think he goes out of his way to do the exact opposite of what Mycroft tells him. Will he ever learn?

Jim could only be found when he wanted Sherlock to find him. After a few weeks of him popping in unannounced, Mycroft began to catch on. Sherlock was sitting in the lab at St. Bart's, staring at a bacteria sample through a microscope when his older brother waltzed through the door, umbrella in hand. 

"Molly, leave." Sherlock said, not looking up from the science equipment. The pathologist jumped and scurried out of the room, offering the elder Holmes a nervous smile on her way out, "What do you want, Mycroft?" 

"You've made a new friend." Mycroft stated simply, leaning against a counter, staring down at his umbrella.

"Who, Molly? She's not a friend, and she isn't new." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "If that's all-"

"Don't feign ignorance, Sherlock. You know exactly who I'm talking about." Mycroft snapped and Sherlock finally looked up from his experiment.

"He's just a friend, someone for me to talk to... He likes-"

"He likes it when you show off to him. He likes it when you tell him about the crimes you've solved. But brother dear, have you stopped to think that maybe this  _Jim_ isn't all that you think he is? He's a criminal, Sherlock. You needn't involve yourself with a man such as him." Mycroft lectured, eye roll very apparent.

"A man such as him?" Questioned Sherlock with a laugh, "He's not a super criminal, Mycroft. He..." Sherlock wasn't sure how to complete his statement.

"What do you know about him, really?" The big brother tone in Mycroft's voice was growing thicker by the second. 

"Don't pretend to care about me now." Sherlock sat up straight and clenched his jaw at his brother.

Mycroft scoffed, "I've told you this before, I worry about you." 

"Yes, I know. Constantly." Sherlock stood, ready to throw Mycroft from the room at a moment's notice. Mycroft shook his head, turning to face the counter he was leaning on, resting both hands on it and sighing deeply.

"You're attitude toward this matter is not helping your case, Sherlock." He shouted, Sherlock did his best to suppress a laugh, "Your immaturity isn't either. This man is dangerous, you shouldn't see him anymore."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not a child, I can take care of myself."

"I'm not sure you can. You've replaced drugs with this person, who you barely know, and it's just as reckless. I almost prefer the narcotics." Mycroft rubbed his face.

"Right, I'll see my dealer this afternoon. Now if you'll excuse me," Sherlock grabbed his coat from the rack by the door and turned back to his brother while putting it on, "I have plans." He turned and walked out the door, flipping up his collar as he let out a huff, stepping out of St. Bart's. Mycroft stood staring at the now empty room. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, holding it to his ear. 

"Yes... We're upgrading his status... No he's not still here, he left... That's what I'd like to know... Then find him on CCTV... Figure something out... Cut off his allowance... Evict him..." Mycroft hung up and straightened his tie before leaving the hospital himself.

 

Sherlock was on his way to his flat, the annoyance still ever present. He walked past an alleyway, oblivious to Jim, who was waiting for him.

"Holmesy..." He sang and Sherlock stopped, turning and walking back to the alley, "There you are, dear. I've been waiting."

"Why not just call? I do have a phone." Sherlock strolled up to him, hands clasped behind his back and stopped in front of him, backing Jim up against the brick wall.

"This is so much more fun, don't you think?" Jim teased, running his fingers up Sherlock's front, moving in to press light kisses to the detective's jaw line. Sherlock grasped Jim's wrists and pushed him back, "Oh, I do like it rough."

"Stop." Sherlock hissed, positioning his mouth right at Jim's ear, "Who are you, really?"

"You're not having fun, being so intimate with someone you hardly know?" Jim replied with a giggle.

"It's been thrilling, so very much. But I need to know." He moved back, staring directly into Jim's eyes.

"You'll find out." Jim grinned, "Just not now." He managed to free his right wrist from Sherlock's grip and cupped his hand to the detective's face, "Right now I want to have you all to myself. Don't think about your idiot brother, don't listen to him." Jim went in for a kiss but Sherlock pulled back further.

"How did you know Mycroft came to see me?" He asked, brow furrowed, eyes searching for something, anything.

"I have my ways, Sherlock. But I can read you, and I know..." He paused leaning back in with a smile, "I _know you_. You're bothered by what your mean big brother said." He puffed out his cheeks and scowled before returning back to his grin, "Just let go this once. Have some fun." He straightened the collar of Sherlock's coat and brushed it off before grasping the lapels and pulling him in, crashing their lips together. Sherlock rolled his eyes with a groan as he kissed back, cupping the shorter Irishman's face in his hands. He pushed Jim back until he was flush against the bricks. They both moved their heads and deepened the kiss simultaneously, Jim requested entrance with his tongue first and Sherlock gave, allowing him access. They clawed at one another as Sherlock bent his knees, wrapping an arm around Jim's waist, pulling him in closer.

Sherlock kissed hungrily, moving down from the jaw line to the neck, nipping softly at the skin. Jim groaned his approval, running his fingers down to play with Sherlock's belt, "Shall we move this inside?" He sang his question, obviously quite pleased with the way things were going.

"What, afraid my brother might see?" Sherlock growled, not abandoning his work on Jim's neck.

"Oh, feisty tonight." He laughed, "Fine, we can get dirty out here in this alleyway. I don't mind." He began unbuckling Sherlock's belt, moving his fingers to the first button on his trousers. Sherlock stopped, pulling Jim's hands from his trouser top and pressing them back against the wall next to his head. The shorter man let out a gasp, his face feigning surprise, "Well I'd never. Sherlock Holmes, you masochistic-" He was cut off by a deep kiss from the detective in question, it left him breathless and searching for more through closed eyes when he pulled away.

"Do come inside, Jim. It's getting cold out here." He smirked and walked away from Jim, who was still pressed against the wall, catching his breath. He opened his eyes and watched Sherlock round the corner, with a devilish grin he hurried after the consulting detective.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding himself evicted, Sherlock must move. He cashes in on a favor from an old friend, and another friend brings something new.

Sherlock rolled over, feeling nothing but the cold sheets next to him. He hadn't expected there to still be a warm body, but it might have been an interesting experiment to test morning coitus and compare it to his ventures from the previous night. With a sigh he sat up, wrapping his sheet around him, he walked into his kitchen, upset that the tea wasn't already made. Then he remembered he lived alone and set about making himself tea. 

One cup and two nicotine patches later, there was a knock at his door. He didn't move from his spot in the couch, hands still steepled beneath his chin.

"Sherlock, open up." A voice called out, Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he sat up, confused. The knocking kept on.

"Lestrade?" He asked, slowly opening the door. The DI pushed in.

"Yeah, it's me. Your brother gave me a ring yesterday and told me you mentioned something about calling your dealer. I decided I'd come by and check out the place, make sure there isn't any paraphernalia around." Lestrade poked around the small sitting room, unamused at the mess.

"I wasn't serious about that. I remember our deal, Gareth. I wouldn't renege." Lestrade turned to Sherlock, hands on his hips. Sherlock prepared for a lecture.

"How many bloody times to I have to tell you, my name is not Gareth, or Gary, or George. It's Greg. My name is Greg, you bloody prat." 

"Ok... Well if that's all, I have a lot of work to do..." Sherlock tried to push Greg out the door.

"No that's not all... Uh... Hmm... Well your brother asked me to do something else." 

"Since when are you doing my brother's bidding?" Sherlock asked, annoyed that Mycroft had somehow gotten to  _his_ detective.

"Yeah let's see, since he threatened my job and told me to keep an eye on you or else they'd find questionable materials on my computer. He doesn't joke around, your brother. Very serious about keeping you in check." Lestrade held onto the door handle as Sherlock scoffed and plopped back down on the couch.

"Alright, so what does he want?" Sherlock closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, very obviously perturbed by the whole ordeal.

"About that... You're evicted."

"I'm what?"

"Yeah he told me to come kick you out of here. Told me to help you pack your things, that you'd need to find a new place to stay. Or you'd have to stay with him." Sherlock growled very loudly and kicked the table in front of him. Lestrade averted his eyes as the consulting detective's sheet opened slightly at his groin when he did so. 

"I'm not moving in with him. I'll just call in a favor. I have the money to do so." He picked his mobile up off the table and phoned the first person he could think of, "Ah, Mrs. Hudson... Yes I've missed you too." He rolled his eyes, "Say is that flat of yours still available?... 221B? Baker Street... Perfect!... Yes I'll be coming by to look at it... Great... See you later Hudders." He hung up and stood simultaneously, staring at Lestrade.

"Hudders?" Lestrade asked, slightly amused.

"An old friend." Sherlock stated plainly, walking to his bedroom, "Stay here, I'll get dressed and then you can help me pack."

 

 

There was a black car waiting outside of Sherlock's flat. With a very large eye roll and a very audible sigh Sherlock threw his belongings into the trunk. He gave the driver the address to the new flat and they set out for it.

"So... Baker Street? Isn't that a bit out of your price range?" Lestrade asked when they were half way there.

"No, of course not. Mycroft allots me a certain amount each month to--" He stopped when he looked at Lestrade who looked as though he was trying to keep himself from coughing, "What?" 

"Nothing... It's just that he also told me that-"

"He was cutting off my allowance?" Sherlock scoffed, "It's fine. I sound like a child, saying allowance. How immature of me. I'll figure something out."

The car came to a halt outside of 221B Baker Street and the two men got out. While he was removing a box from the trunk he backed into someone soft. Upon turning around Sherlock rolled his eyes, unwilling to speak to the man he'd run into.

"Sherlock Holmes!" He shouted, "Good to see you!"

"Mike Stamford, you as well." Sherlock said awkwardly, unable to shake the hand offered by the portly man.

"Ah, moving in are you?" He looked from Sherlock to Lestrade, "This your flat mate?"

"No." Sherlock said, "I won't have a flatmate. I mean who would want me as a flat mate? I'm intolerable."

"You can say that again." Lestrade remarked from behind him.

"Kindly keep your thoughts to yourself, Gus." He replied and heard Lestrade mutter 'Greg' but paid him no attention.

"I'm sure you'll find someone." Mike said, still smiling widely, "Well I've got to go. I'll see you around."

"Undoubtedly. I'll be at Bart's later. I've got a few tests I need to run on a corpse." 

"Sounds like you, Holmes. Ta!" Mike said, walking away from the DI and the consulting detective. Sherlock turned from the man who was fading into the distance and knocked on the door to his new flat.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was completely prepared to see Mike Stamford again that day, what he wasn't prepared for, was the short blonde soldier who came in with him. The moment he walked in with Mike, Sherlock knew he was brought there as a potential flat mate. He observed the man, noticed his strengths and short comings. He decided that he would have to do, though he'd have to do something about the psychosomatic limp the gent was suffering from. He found himself inviting John Watson to view the flat he'd already moved into with him. As he walked down the hall his phone rang and he glanced at it. One new message.

_Dropped by your flat, you weren't there. Did mean old Mycroft have you evicted? Oh well, where'd you move?_

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and stared at the text. He didn't start moving again until he heard the door to the lab open and the sound of John's cane hitting the floor. He hurried from the hospital and hailed a cab, jumping in, his phone still in hand, he typed his reply.

_221B Baker Street. Yes, Mycroft can be very immature until he gets what he wants. -SH_

He tapped the phone on his knee and stared at the window, the reply came quickly.

_And what does he want?_

Sherlock stared at the message, unsure if he should reply. 

"Sentiment." He scoffed at himself.

"What?" The cabbie asked and Sherlock glared at him.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Right then, you're barmy." He replied and averted his eyes from the rearview. Sherlock sighed deeply and looked back at his phone.

_He doesn't want me to... See you anymore. But I've told him I'm not a child. I've taken control, even got myself a flat mate. -SH_

The cab came to a halt outside of 221B and he paid the driver and hopped out, glancing around him, searching for Jim. He wasn't there, at least not yet. The sinking feeling Sherlock felt when he saw Jim wasn't there made him roll his eyes at himself as he unlocked and pushed open the door of 221B. He trudged up the stairs as his phone went off again.

_Congratulations on the new flat, brother mine._

Sherlock growled and threw his phone onto the cluttered table against the wall, running his hands through he hair he looked around the flat. His eyes rested on the skull on the mantle, it was a few centimeters off. He walked to it and moved it back.

"Someone's here." He said softly to himself.

"You got that right, Sherlock." Jim said suddenly, causing Sherlock to jump and turn. The Irishman was leaning against the wall of the hall that led to Sherlock's room, he was staring down at the floor smiling.

"You got here quick." Sherlock stated.

"I was in the area." Jim looked up at him, grin still spread across his face, "The new flat is lovely." He gestured around the room before returning his hands back to his pockets.

"Yes, I thought so too." Sherlock smirked, walking closer to Jim.

"Obviously. That's why you moved in so quickly." His smile disappeared, "You know, I could help you pay for it. There's no reason for you to get a flat mate." His statement made Sherlock stop dead in his tracks. The detective narrowed his eyes at the shorter man, trying to figure out his end game.

"Are..." He caught on, "Are you jealous?" Sherlock laughed a bit, causing Jim to straighten up, the gentle nature gone from his eyes.

"You are mine, Sherlock. I won't have you running off with some war doctor." He clenched his jaw.

"Been following me, have you?" Sherlock asked, moving to sit in his new green chair and steepling his hands beneath his chin. Jim walked to the red chair opposite him and sat down. He immediately looked uncomfortable as he tried to readjust himself.

"This chair is rubbish, Holmesy." He rubbed his face with one hand and picked at the upholstery with the other, "And no, I've not been following you. I have eyes and ears all over. I see all." His smile returned a bit.

"How omniscient of you." Sherlock stated coldly, "But I assure you, Jim... I don't belong to anyone, so fear not. My work is  _the_ most important thing to me. I won't be off running around with  _some_ war doctor. He's my flat mate, not my friend." Jim laughed and looked at the fireplace, as he sat on the edge of the chair he leaned forward, into Sherlock.

"Good. We shouldn't have any problems then." He moved his gaze to Sherlock, and his eyes pierced through the detective's cold facade. Sherlock found himself feeling quite uneasy as Jim stared him down. He took a deep breath and leaned forward himself.

"I hope we don't." He replied, resting his hands on his knees, he went to get up, but Jim caught his hand, keeping him down.

"We shouldn't... As long as you..." He moved off the chair, his knees hitting the floor and he kissed Sherlock, making the detective sit back down in his chair. Jim pushed him back fully into the seat, moving himself between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock hardly kissed back, but let Jim do what he wanted, and he did. He moved the kisses down the detective's neck and kissed every inch of skin as he opened all of Sherlock's shirt buttons. Sherlock let his eyes close as Jim undid his trousers and let his head fall back. He stared at the ceiling, unsure of whether he was enjoying this experience, or coming to regret it, "You are mine." Jim mumbled quietly in between kisses. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply, fighting back the tears and the emotions that threatened to betray him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things about writing fan fics, is writing what happens before or after a scene... It's so exciting to think about what the characters were doing just before we see them, or just after, dontchathink?

It had been months since Sherlock and Jim's excursion in the sitting room. Sherlock sat in his chair now, looking across at John Watson, who was reading the morning paper and he couldn't help but think that John looked as though he belonged there. In the chair across from him. Jim hadn't looked so right in the big red chair. 

"You're staring, Sherlock." John said, bring the paper down out of his face. He folded it and smiled at the detective, who returned the grin, "Have you got something on your mind?" John tilted his head and concern flashed across his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Nothing of extreme importance, I'm just thinking." Sherlock replied, tapping his fingers to his lips.

"You're always thinking, what's different about this time?" John joked, resting his head on his hands, still looking directly at Sherlock. The detective glanced back at John, admiring the fondness he saw on his flat mate's face.

"We're... friends... Right?" Sherlock asked awkwardly. John let out a laugh.

"You could say that, yeah." He replied, moving to stand up, Sherlock caught his arm and John looked down at him, the concern returning, "Sherlock, what's the matter?" He sat back down and held onto the detective's hand, his brow furrowed and mouth agape as he stared into the pale green-grey eyes of the man across from him. Sherlock almost got lost in the deep blue eyes of his blogger before he cleared his throat to add some sound to the almost awkward silence.

"Nothing... I just..." Sherlock looked down at their hands and his stomach twisted, it wasn't the same feeling he got when he looked down at his and Jim's hands. That was nervousness, but it was nothing close to how he felt currently, "I'm just glad you're here." Sherlock smiled and let go of John's hand. John let it drop and stood up.

"Tea?" He asked and Sherlock nodded. John gave him a reassuring smile before turning and walking into the kitchen and looks through the cabinets, "Damn, we're out."

"Out of tea?" Sherlock asked surprised, "We're rubbish Brits, we don't even have tea."

"I'll just pop down to the shop and get some then, won't be gone long." John sighed and walked to the door, picking up his jacket as there was a knock. He opened it and Molly was standing there, smiling awkwardly, holding a bag, "Hello Molly." He smiled and kissed her cheek. She let out a nervous giggle and stepped into the flat.

"Hi John. I'm just here... Uh... Sherlock asked for..." She held up the bag.

"Ah." John said, turning back to the detective who sat in his chair, hands steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed, "Sherlock." John said, the detective didn't move.

"I'm just going to put this in the fridge, then." Molly said, walking into the kitchen. John heard the rustling of the bag but didn't check to see what she'd put into the fridge. John walked up to Sherlock and tapped him on the shoulder. The detective sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.

"Yes, John? Back from the shop already? That was quick. Or was it? How long's it been?" He asked all at once.

"I haven't even left yet. Molly just dropped something off for you." John told him and Sherlock smirked.

"Perfect, a new experiment. Thank you Molly Hooper!" He exclaimed and she stood sheepishly by the door.

"I'll be going, then." She said quietly and turned, quickly leaving the flat.

"She's got a new boyfriend." Sherlock said.

"What? How could you-" John cut himself off.

"She didn't want to stay and chat, when has she never wanted to stay and chat, especially with me? She's trying to keep her distance from me, for the sake of her new boyfriend." Sherlock explained and John stared at him incredulously.

"You brilliant idiot." John said smiling as he turned and walked out of the flat, heading down to Tesco.

"That's an oxymoron." Sherlock said, not noticing he'd left. He let out a sigh and tossed his head back onto the chair. He turned and stared at John's laptop, which was opened to his blog. Sherlock picked it up and read through it, grunting and closing it, tossing it aside, "Boring." He shook his legs as he looked around, trying to find something to do. With a large breath he stood and ran up the stairs to John's room, once he'd found the gun he laughed and ran back down the stairs, cocking it and firing.

 

 

The events happened so quickly, Sherlock wasn't sure what to think. He'd found John's gun, shot at the wall, then fought with John, then Mrs. Hudson repremanded him for shooting the wall, then there was an explosion. He sat in the middle of the floor of the sitting room at Baker Street an stared at the now boarded up windows. 

"Tedious." He mumbled. He heard a knock at the door and didn't bother turning to look.

"Sitting in rubble, brother dear?" Mycroft remarked, walking into the flat without an invitation, "How unbecoming."

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I've come to check on you. My brother's flat blows up and you expect me not to care?" Sherlock stood and scoffed at his brother's fake worry, "Also, I'm very happy that you've stopped consorting with that Jim fellow. He was bad news, Dr. Watson is much better."

"What do you want?" He asked again, venom in his tone. Mycroft sat in  _John's_ chair and and pulled out a file. Sherlock laughed lightly and picked up his violin, sitting in his own chair, he stared across at his brother, "I knew it. You don't care, I could have been blown to smithereens and you wouldn't have cared. As long as I was still able to solve cases for you." 

"Do give me some credit, Sherlock. I'm not a monster, and you are still my brother. Had you been blown to smithereens, I would have had to tell Mummy and Daddy. They would have been heart broken." Mycroft smiled with a tilt of his head as he set the folder beside him.

"I'm far too busy." Sherlock states, plucking at the strings on his violin. 

"It's a very interesting case, Sherlock, you'll want to make time." Mycroft replied, resting his hands together in front of him.

"I doubt it." He replied with an eye roll as they both heard the door to the flat slam shut and they heard the sound of excited footsteps on the stairs.

"Dr. Watson has returned." Mycroft said and they both turned to watch the blonde man enter the flat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting as Jim reappears.

Sherlock was excited, he was on his first interesting case in a long while, it allowed him time to stop thinking about personal matters. He and John were in the lab of St. Bart's, he was staring into a microscope when the door opened. He glanced to the side, noticing the new arrival through his peripherals. He scowled and lifted his eyes from the slide so he could get a better look. It was Jim indeed. The confusion that flooded into his brain caused him to look back into his microscope and continue his work. He didn't know what game Jim was playing, but pretending to be Molly's boyfriend from I.T. wasn't something he'd seen coming.

John watched as Jim circled Sherlock, and he could have sworn he saw the obviously gay new boyfriend of Molly's run a hand along the top of Sherlock's trousers, but he shook it off. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him. Sherlock tensed up as he felt Jim come closer to him and the hand running along the top of his trouser's made him lift his eyes from the microscope and look directly at Jim, who gave him a devious grin. Sherlock eyed him and before he knew what he was doing, he'd decided he didn't want Molly to think she had a chance with him, "Gay." He said suddenly and Jim laughed. He felt something akin to guilt after he'd said it and heard Molly reply so sullenly, "Nothing..." He smiles at Jim, "Hey." The look Jim gave him almost made his heart stop as he returned the greeting, he knocked over the metal dish beside Sherlock and it made the detective roll his eyes at Jim's carelessness, until he realized he'd placed something on the counter. Deciding Jim must have a new number he wanted Sherlock to reach him at, he allowed the sloppy meeting to pass.

John huffed as he saw Jim place the card down beside Sherlock. He wasn't sure if they'd met before, but something about the man felt off. Something about Sherlock's reactions felt off. This Jim wasn't here for Molly, he was here for Sherlock. But why he was, well he just didn't know.

Sherlock looked at the number and immediately stored it in Jim's small room in his mind palace, telling himself he'd have to call Jim once this case was over. The man was something akin to a drug, and Sherlock wanted, neigh, needed another hit. With a huff Sherlock explained why Jim was gay to Molly, he needed her to quit thinking she had something with him and she leaves the room. He looked at John, and could tell the man was unhappy with him.

"Kinder? No Sherlock, that wasn't kind." He said to him and Sherlock felt a small twinge of guilt, only John could make him feel like that. He cursed himself for feeling anything at all for his flat mate. He told Jim he would just be his flat mate, but this was growing into something more. His thoughts were only solidified when he looked at John, trying to get him to make deductions. The eye lock they shared contained the most intense, gut wrenching moments the consulting detective had ever experienced. These moments were happening more and more with John. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad. He could tell that something about Jim was off, something about him screamed danger. And he didn't know if he wanted to subject John to that. Still, before researching the shoes so he could show John, he typed a message into his phone to Jim.

_Clever. I think you may have just broken Molly's heart. On that note, I want to see you. -SH_

 

 

Sherlock and John arrived back at the flat and Sherlock decided to shut himself in the kitchen to go over the details of the case. His phone dinged.

_You just did... But alright, if you insist. Send your blogger away and I'll come right over._

Sherlock sighed and put his phone down. John popped his head in, begging to help as his phone went off. Sherlock saw his opening and took it.

"Putting my best man on it right now." Sherlock said, and John looked at him, somewhat confused.

"Who's that?" John asked, Sherlock smirked.

"You, of course. You've picked up quite a few things working with me the past few months. I think it's time for you to take a case on your own. Starting with this one, go see Mycroft... And dress... Better." He said, eyeing John's outfit.

"What's wrong with what I've got on?" John laughed, stroking his jumper.

"Really? Go put on a suit. You've got one of those haven't you?" Sherlock stood and practically pushed John to the staircase. John laughed.

"Alright, alright." He said and turned back to Sherlock, "Thank you, for agreeing to take this case. Mycroft would have never stopped-"

"It's fine, go." Sherlock cut off the exchange of sentiment and John shook his head, walking up the stairs to his room. Sherlock pulled out his phone and formed his reply to Jim.

_20 minutes, he should be gone for quite a while, I've sent him to Mycroft._ - _SH_

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_I'll be waiting in your room._

He heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs and opened the door, Jim was already at the top and he sauntered past Sherlock and down the hall, glancing back one more time with a devious grin. Sherlock was still staring in that direction as John came down the stairs.

"This better?" John asked, Sherlock didn't reply. John walked closer to the detective and snapped in his face, "Hello? Sherlock?"

"Huh?" Sherlock snapped out of it, redirecting his eyes to John, "What did you say?" 

"What are you looking at?" John asked, moving to look down the hall. The door to Sherlock's room wasn't closed and Jim was very clearly laying in his bed, Sherlock pushed John out of the doorway and to the stair case. He pushed his blogger a little too roughly into the wall, "Oi, Sherlock!" John said with a huff as his back hit the wall.

"Sorry." Sherlock said, removing his hands from John's shoulders, "You'd better go."

"Right." John said, confused, but Sherlock hadn't missed the pupil dilation when he handled the man roughly, "How do I look, then?" He asked again, straightening his jacket and tie.

"You look..." Sherlock stepped back and looked the doctor up and down, "Excellent, very professional. Now go get Mycroft off my back! Text me when you're on your way back, we may need a few things from the shop." He practically pushed John down the stairs.

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going. See you later." John said with a smile as he walked down the steps. He stopped before turning the corner and looked back up at Sherlock, or where Sherlock would have been had he not already disappeared. John stood on the steps a moment longer, listening as he heard Sherlock's steps enter the flat and then walk down the hall. He heard muffled voices and he grasped the hand rail. Shaking off the feeling in the pit of his stomach, he laughed and walked down the rest of the steps, exiting onto Baker Street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll with these chapters today, I want to keep writing. I can't help it!


	7. Chapter 7

"How's he getting on?" Mycroft asked John, referring to the case in the most part, but hoping his brother's flat mate would have some incite into his personal affairs. John responded with a bad lie, an unconvincing smile and useless information, "Yes, thank you for that, John. But I was wondering if you've noticed anything abnormal about my brother as of late? Perhaps secret phone calls or conversations that he doesn't want you to hear or see. Maybe he's disappeared for hours or has pushed you out of the house early? Like right now, he sent you here, what is he doing?" 

John laughed nervously, "I told you, he's investigating..." He cleared his throat.

"You're lying, Dr. Watson. What is he doing?" 

"He's at the flat. Investigating the murder of Carl Powers. That's what he was doing when I left, anyway." John felt uneasy, and wasn't sure if he should mention the hushed voices he'd heard before leaving.

"And you're sure?" Mycroft looked at him and he thought maybe the elder Holmes brother already knew.

"Well, I thought I heard voices... When I left, I mean." John admitted, still not sure if it was a good idea, Mycroft looked to be on the border of pleased and very angry. How he achieved that look was beyond John.

"Male voices?" Mycroft steepled his hands together in front of his face.

"Uh..." John pursed his lips and looked to the side, looking down to admire his hands before glancing back up at Mycroft, "I think so, yes." 

"It would seem my brother is an idiot." Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood up, walking to the door and opening it, "Thank you, Dr. Watson, that'll be all for today."

"Alright." John stood and started toward the door, before exiting he stopped, turning to Mycroft, and with the clench and unclench of his fists he said, "Sherlock's... Uh... He's got a boyfriend, hasn't he?"

"You seem upset by that fact." Mycroft replied.

"No." John laughed, shaking his head a little too vigorously, "Just surprised." 

"Not as surprised as he'll be when you return early. Now go." Mycroft hissed and shut the door loudly behind the former soldier. John laughed to himself, unconvinced by his own reasoning for his reaction and walked rather quickly out of the building. 

 

 

"Why Molly?" Sherlock asked Jim as they were laying together, post-coital bliss one might call it.  _Might_.

"Why not Molly? She's in love with you, Sherlock. I had to gather as much information as I could and get her off your back." Jim rolled to his side and gazed at Sherlock, "How's the case going?"

"Which one?" Sherlock asked, though he wasn't sure how Jim knew about either.

"The one with the pink phone. How's it going?" Sherlock blinked a few times before turning to Jim.

"How did you know about the pink phone?" He asked, Jim smiled.

"I saw it at the lab. Duh." He replied playfully pushing Sherlock, "Doofus." Sherlock didn't respond, instead he turned his eyes back to the ceiling and they laid in silence. After a few moments of this, Jim sighed and got out of the bed, beginning the search for his clothes in the dark room, "I'd better be off, you've got a case to solve, and I've places to be. Duties to fulfill." He slipped on his blazer and turned back to Sherlock, "Until we meet again, Holmesy." With a wink he walked out of the door, leaving the flat with hardly a sound. Sherlock sighed and sat up, he looked at the clock. 3 hours left. He had to get up and figure out how Carl Powers was murdered. He slipped on his clothes and exited his bedroom, heading back into the kitchen and sitting at his microscope.

John exited the cab and hurried into 221B, expecting to catch Sherlock in the throws of passion, but finding him shouting about botulinum. John stared at him as he explained that it's what killed Carl Powers. While Sherlock called Lestrade to tell him where the victim was, John decided he would walk down the hall to Sherlock's room and peek in, just to see if the mystery man was there. There wasn't a man, but there were the tell tale signs of recent sexual activity. His eyes moved from the twisted sheets to the small bottle half hidden on the floor and his heart sank. Why, he wasn't sure. Again, he found himself laughing and shaking it off as if it were nothing, though he wasn't completely certain it was nothing. 

"John?" Sherlock called to his blogger, "What are you doing?" John was leaning back against the wall just outside of Sherlock's room, still laughing when the detective rounded the corner, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He sucked in a breath and stood up straight when he saw his flat mate. John stopped laughing when he saw Sherlock and they stared at one another for what seemed like hours, but was in reality a few seconds, though each one grew increasingly more uncomfortable. John's chest tightened, as did Sherlock's. He began to open his mouth, tried to form an excuse.

"Nope." John said, holding his hand up and shaking his head, "Don't say... Anything." John walked by Sherlock and the detective reached out to grab John's arm, stopping him walking by.

"John... I-" He started but stopped himself, unsure if they had eyes on them, "It's not..." He faded out and settled on staring down at his hand on John's arm. John hadn't looked at him, he continued to look forward.

"What you do in your bed is none of my business, but right now, we're trying to catch a psycho bomber, so if you could please concentrate on that. You can resume your relationship after the case is over." John ended his sentence by staring as Sherlock as he shrugged off his hand.

"You sound like me." Sherlock smirked, then his smile disappeared when John straightened up himself, clenching his jaw at Sherlock. He walked away with a shake of his head, and went straight up to his room, slamming the door behind him. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

John and Sherlock had barely spoken to one another, and when they did, John's attitude was very apparent. He was extremely unhappy with the detective, and Sherlock was too prideful to address his flat mate's unhappiness. So they focused on the case at hand. Even at the crime scene when Sherlock heard Sally Donovan giving John suggestions on what else he could be doing other than working with Sherlock, he kept his mouth shut. Though he was quite pleased that John didn't agree that he shouldn't be working alongside Sherlock.

They hopped in a cab and headed to Janus Cars, Sherlock spoke to John genuinely, "So, you think you'll pick up fishing, then?" He glanced sideways at John and saw the man laugh. 

"No, I don't think I will." He replied, still smiling, "Though, stamp collecting sounds rather invigorating." Sherlock turned toward John fully.

"Nah, go for model trains, more fun." He said, causing the two of them to erupt into a fit of laughter, breaking the tension that had hung over their heads from the previous night's argument. 

"So, to Janus Cars, then." John said, patting his jacket and pulling out his notebook, "Good thing I brought this along."

"You're going to take notes?" Sherlock asked with a small laugh.

"Yeah. So you can reference them later if you need to." John explained, "I do it for you." He mumbled and Sherlock glanced at him before turning back to look out the window, deciding not to tell him he can remember all the details in his mind palace. He smirked a bit at John's sentiment before returning his face back to it's stone cold demeanor. 

Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text to Jim. John glanced a Sherlock's phone from his peripheral's and read the message, though once he was done typing it, he turned his head back to watch the buildings pass by.

_John knows, no contact for a while. Focus must remain on case. -SH_

He received no reply.

 

 

That case was uneventful, John made sure to stay with Sherlock and there were no mysterious calls or visitors. The next day when John and Sherlock were sitting at the diner, John watched as Sherlock talked to the bomber. He didn't know why the detective's face fell flat or why he stared straight forward, unmoving after he'd hung up.

_I like to watch you dance_ played in his mind over and over again as he turned back to face the T.V. screen. John sat and stared at him.

"Sherlock?" John asked, Sherlock paid him no attention, instead replayed all the phone conversations with all the victims.

"We were made for each other." He whispered, "Jim..." He said softly, then shaking his head.

"What?" John asked, having not heard a word Sherlock said.

"No, it can't be." Sherlock said, still shaking his head, sentiment getting into his brain, "Stupid. Stupid boy." He ran his hand through his hair.

"Sorry, who's stupid?" He pried, trying to figure out what Sherlock was in the process of figuring out.

"Nothing, we need to go to Bart's to look at Connie." Sherlock stood and shoved his hands into his pockets, walking out the door and leaving John to pay for his food. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time, sorry. Mostly just filler and to move the story along! Gonna write another immediately though!!!


	9. Chapter 9

If he was right about Jim being the bomber, he couldn't have been more disgusted with himself. He blew up an old lady, plus her surrounding floors. Sherlock set his mind to sociopath, it was time to stop caring and get right to the point. He wouldn't let his emotions cloud his judgement, nor would he let his fear of finding out if Jim was the bomber stop him from sussing him out. 

John didn't like cold, hard Sherlock. He wanted the detective to care about the victims, though he knew that wasn't what would save them. It wasn't that John was too angry to help, it's that he was trying to figure out the way Sherlock's mind worked. He didn't understand how someone could be so warm one moment and so cold the next. So he sat on the sofa and began looking through the paper, searching for headlines that could correspond with the photo Sherlock had received. Once they'd figured it out Sherlock was set to go, throwing on his coat. John sat, unmoving.

"Aren't you coming?" Sherlock furrowed his brow, eyeing his flat mate.

"I'm not sure." John said quietly, hands resting on his knees. He didn't look at the taller man, just continued to sit, staring at the table in front of him.

"Why do you care so much?" Sherlock asked, genuinely confused.

"Why don't you?" The blogger responded, taking that moment to glance up at Sherlock, his mouth agape, confusion in his eyes.

"I've told you, I'm a high-"

"Yeah, high-functioning sociopath, right. You know, I took psychology... You're nothing near a sociopath." John stood and zipped up his coat. Sherlock laughed and continued to stare at his flat mate.

"Tell that to the dozens of therapists my parents sent me to as a adolescent." He said and John stepped up to him.

"Those doctor's were obviously rubbish." Came his reply.

"You're right. You're the only doctor I need these days. Let's go." Sherlock turned on his heel and sped down the stairs, leaving John to follow and ponder his words. 

 

 

To say saving Sherlock Holmes' life was getting tedious was an understatement. But a part of John didn't mind, he felt like it was his job to keep the detective safe; He was sort of getting used to it. Though, the Golem was a different story, over seven feet of ridiculous super human strength and limbs that made him resemble a small tree... Well it was unbelievable. 

Yet John tried anyway. He aimed his gun at the man, fully intending to fire once he had a clear shot. But gumby had other ideas and kicked it from his hands. John looked down in amazement only to be kicked himself. He watched as the man started suffocating his detective and leapt into action. He was almost glad no one was there to witness their prime fighting abilities at that moment. 

When the man escaped he was somewhat relieved. At least they could stop trying to fight him. John laid back on the stage, catching his breath as Sherlock slammed back, laying John's gun at his side.

"That was... Insane." John laughed between heavy breaths. 

"Yes, thank you for jumping on his back." Sherlock began, "I have to admit, it looked extremely hilarious. Like a midget riding a dinosaur." John turned his head to face the detective. Sherlock had his head back and his eyes closed. The smile on his face was geniune, despite just having been beaten to a pulp by a giant. John sighed as his stomach fluttered. The sound made Sherlock turn and open his eyes, "You alright?"

"Yeah..." John said hesitantly, still looking at Sherlock, though now their eyes were locked. John smiled softly and nodded his head the best he could while laying down, "I'm great."

"Good." Sherlock said quietly. They remained on the floor, catching their breaths and staring at each other until they heard the sounds of the woman they'd saved stirring. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, the softness disappearing. John watched the transformation take place and propped himself up on his elbows to watch Sherlock jump off the stage and go over to the woman, helping her off the floor. 

With a deep sigh of his own, whether it was because he and Sherlock were interrupted from their stare down or because he realized he could look into those geen eyes for the rest of his life, he didn't know. But the one thing he was sure of, was that Sherlock Holmes was changing his life, and he didn't exactly know if he was ready. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this on my phone.... heh...

John sat in the flat, going over the events of the last few months in his head. Sherlock was unlike any man he'd ever met, so it made sense that he had such an effect on him. But the idea that he could possibly have feelings for him threw the former soldier for a loop. He liked women, definitely liked women. He'd never even been with a man let alone thought about being with one. Well that wasn't true, he'd had one minor thought about Sholto back during deployment... But it didn't linger in his gut like these thoughts about Sherlock. 

He looked at Sherlock, who was trying to figure out the bombers next move. He knew the detective was lying about giving the plans to Mycroft, but what he planned to do with them, he didn't know. And at the moment, it wasn't his problem. He was going to go to Sarah's and prove to himself that he liked women and not Sherlock Holmes. 

Though he looked it up on his phone, and having feelings for one person of the same gender didn't make him automatically gay, no it made him pansexual or something like that. No. He shook it off. Definitely going to Sarah's. And he said as much, bidding the detective farewell and leaving the flat. 

The moment he stepped out the door he felt odd. Like there were eyes on him. He tightened his jacket around him and started down the street. He passed a dark alley and thought he saw a shadow move but figured it was his mind playing tricks on him. He turned the corner and saw two men kissing. It was the last thing he remembered before everything went dark. 

 

When he woke up, he felt heavy. There was a buzzing in his ear and a weight around his mid section. Groaning he sat up, he was in a locker bay, that made no sense. 

"What?" He said softly, looking around. The buzzing in his ear stopped. 

"Good morning sleeping beauty." A teasing Irish voice rang through his head. 

"Who is this?" John asked, trying to stand, but the weight around him made it difficult. 

"Haven't you figured that out yet, Johnny boy. Or have your boyfriends skills not rubbed off on you yet?" The voice sang and John shook his head. 

"He's not my boyfriend." John sighed, even when kidnapped he still had to defend his sexuality. 

"Could have fooled me." The man said in a child like tone. John grunted as he stood up and looked down, seeing the bomb for the first time. 

"Christ." He said. 

"Nope, sorry." The voice sang, "Friends call me Moriarty though, you could try that."

"Like you have friends." John laughed slightly. 

"Awe ok you caught me. My employees call me Moriarty." He laughed and John thought he could hear the smirk in his tone, "I do have one friend, though. We have him in common, and in fact... I think he's here." 

"What?" John furrowed his brow, hearing the door open an Sherlocks voice echoing through the pool. 

"When you step out there, say hello sexy." Moriarty instructed. 

"No... I'm not gonna say that." John said as he turned out of the locker bay and stared directly at Sherlock. The detective stopped in his tracks and all John could do was hope he didn't think he'd betrayed him.

"No fun. Party pooper. Alright, say isn't this quite the turn up, Sherlock." John did as he said, and continued to do as he said. Luckily Moriarty revealed that he was the one pulling the strings. 

"I gave you my number, thought you might call." Moriarty said from the back of the pool. And John closed his eyes, he knew the voice, while Irish, sounded familiar. 

"Jim." Both and Sherlock said. Though they didn't say it loud enough for him to hear.

"Jim Moriarty, hi." He sang and Sherlocks chest ached. He looked quickly at John who watched him with an almost knowing look and then he averted his eyes, looking to the pool and then back at Jim, err, Moriarty. The man that walked into the pool looked like the same one Sherlock had known for the past year or so. But the softness behind his eyes was gone, the facade finally brought down. This man was the true Jim, the one he'd gotten a glimpse of the day he was told he belonged to him. And now he knew it was true, he'd been Moriartys puppet since that day in the parking garage.  

"Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Well I suppose that was rather the point." He said the words, but John somehow felt like they weren't meant for Sherlock. The way Sherlock was staring at the man told John a different story. The betrayal was still there. John closed his eyes, unwilling to see his friend's heart breaking. 

"Shall we tell him how we've met before, Sherlock? You can talk, Johnny boy." Moriarty reached John, standing inches behind him. He stood with his eyes still closed, guns pointed at him. 

"Are the snipers really necessary?" Sherlock asked, putting on his best bored face. 

"Yes. Completely. Don't think you get special treatment because you've been... Well you know. I'll try not to be crude for his sake." Moriarty smiled deviously and stuffed his hands in his pockets, "besides, now you're in my way, the snipers are extremely necessary." 

John listened to the banter between the two, flinching slightly when the psychopath shouted. But then he saw his chance, a chance for Sherlock to escape. Because there he was, strapped into a bomb, and he was still worried about Sherlocks life. He rolled his eyes at himself before pouncing on Moriarty and telling Sherlock to run. 

"Good!! Very good!" He laughed as John held him. John tightened his hold around his neck, telling him they'd both go up if his snipers fired, Moriarty glanced back at him, "Isn’t he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets." He said to Sherlock, the detective clenched his jaw and tightened his grip around the handle of his gun. John looked at him, a confused look on his face, "They're so touchingly loyal." He laughed as a dot appeared on Sherlock, "But I'm not, that's the problem with ordinary folk, Sherlock. Should have stuck with me." John released the mad man, stepping back. 

"So what, you'll kill me if I don't leave you alone, is that how this ends?" Sherlock asked, almost disgusted, Moriarty laughed.

"Don't be so obvious, Sherlock. I won't kill you..." He smiled at the detective and Sherlock thought for a moment that sentiment would get the better of the criminal, "I mean I'm gonna kill you someday, but why rush it? I've something special prepared for you. You see, if you don't stop prying, I will burn you." He leaned into the detective, face to face, "I will burn the heart out of you." He winked at Sherlock and turned back to John, smiling. 

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock said, still holding the gun up.

"Oh we both know that's not quite true, don't we Holmesy." He dragged out the nick name and John furrowed his brow, "Well I'll be off, glad we got to have a proper chat."

"What if I were to kill you right now?" Sherlock said suddenly, causing Moriarty to turn back and laugh.

"You would get to cherish the look of surprise on my face." He opened his mouth, and then smiled, "Cause I'd be surprised, I really would. And a teensy bit disappointed. Though we both know how much you like it when I make that face." He laughed again and turned on his heel, "Anyway, ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He stopped next to John and stared him down, and then with a smirk he walked away. Once he was gone from the pool Sherlock ran to John and ripped off the jacket with the bomb.

"Are you alright?" He shouted. From behind the door to the pool Moriarty watched from his video feed. Laughing as he saw Sherlock on his knees, pulling John's clothes off.

"Oh no, can't have that now, can we. Too erotic." He laughed and pushed back into the pool, "Sorry boys, I'm so changeable!" 

Sherlock and John looked back at themselves, only to find they were covered yet again in red dots. Sherlock kept his back turned to the criminal as he heard him say that they couldn't be allowed to continue, and he wondered if he meant him. Or him and John, together. He turned, gun ready to fire at the bomb, eyes locked with Jim Moriarty. He swore for a second he could see Jim's softness showing just a bit, but it was soon replaced by the coldness as his phone began to ring. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis a long one. Lots of Johnlock fluff... Enjoy. :)

The ride home was silent. Neither John nor Sherlock spoke, and they kept their eyes fixed out their respective windows. The cab stopped at Baker Street and they climbed out, for once John didn't complain about paying. They headed up the stairs and Sherlock sat in his seat, John went into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and getting Sherlock one as well; He figured the detective would need it. He sat in his own chair, swirling the liquid around, replaying that night's events.

"John, I..." Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

"No... shut up, Sherlock." He said, sipping from his glass, "What was that? Hmm? Better question, who... was that?" He looked directly at Sherlock, eyebrows raised. 

"It was Moriarty, John, I thought you'd gathered at least that much." Sherlock responded, trying to avoid the subject, but failing miserably. He glanced up from his glass at John, who was smiling, though he was clearly unamused. 

"Right, so you didn't know him then? Besides meeting him at Barts, you'd never met him before." John said in a low voice, it was almost a growl. 

"You and I both know that's not true." Was his reply and John nodded, downing the rest of his drink. He got up and poured himself another glass before settling back into his chair, resting his head on it in his hand. 

"So..." John smiled, "He was the one... The one that was here that day? He was the reason you sent me to see Mycroft?" Sherlock pursed his lips and debated answering the question honestly. 

"Yes..." He said, settling on the truth. 

"Right." John looked up at the ceiling and let out a laugh. It caught Sherlock by surprise and he watched as his flat mate, who seemed so angry a moment ago, erupted into a fit of laughter. He furrowed his brow and took a sip of his whiskey, John was still laughing.

"Okay, what's so funny?"

"Oh, you know..." He leaned forward, resting the drink on the table at his side, "Just that the great Sherlock Holmes was sleeping with the enemy for months, and didn't know it. Don't tell Lestrade, he'll never let it go." John said between laughs. 

"Like you're letting it go? Why are you laughing, why aren't you mad at me?" Sherlock asked, genuinely confused.

"Sherlock, I'm furious with you. But it's easier to laugh it off than to sit here and let the anger fester. It wouldn't be healthy. So I'm laughing. Just let me deal with it in my own way." He slammed back into his chair and picked up his glass again, taking a drink. Sherlock said nothing and sat back himself, downing the rest of his whiskey. 

"You want a refill?" John asked, finishing his and standing, holding out his hand for Sherlocks glass. The detective nodded and handed it off. John came back with replenished drinks and gave Sherlock his now full glass back. 

"Thank you." He said, taking a sip.

"Don't mention it." John smiled softly, the plentiful amounts of alcohol in only ten minutes starting to take quick effect.

"John, can I ask you something?" Sherlock asked. 

"What?" He rebutted, resting his head on his hand, his glass resting on his knee. 

"Why... Why do you care so much?"

"I thought we've already been through this, Sherlock. I'm a doctor, caring is kind of my job." John replied, taking a big gulp and tilting his head at the detective. 

"No. I get that. What I meant was... Why do you care so much about me?" John raised his eyebrows and laughed a bit at Sherlocks question. He downed his glass and set it back down, moving to the edge of his seat. 

"Sherlock... Before I met you... I didn't have anyone here I could call a friend. And since that first day, you have completely turned my life upside down. I'm not complaining, believe me, I'm not. I happen to love it. You are incredible, and if you can't see that about yourself, well... I guess you'll just need me to keep reminding you that you're brilliant." He smiled down at his hands and Sherlock leaned forward, also sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Thank you." He said, and John looked up at him, realizing it was genuine and he smiled, mouth closed, eyes wide. Sherlock grabbed his hand and watched as his pupils dilated, hoping his matched. He looked down at their hands, John took the liberty of running his thumb across Sherlocks knuckles. Before Sherlock could indulge in the urge he felt to interlace their fingers, John sighed and stood up, releasing his grip. 

"Another?" John asked.

"Sure." Sherlock replied, not necessarily wanting to indulge John's drinking, but not wanting give him a reason to retire to his room. So he handed his glass over to his blogger and allowed him to get him a refill. 

John plopped back down in his chair and sighed deeply, "So..." He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, "Do you love him?" 

"I'm not sure that's a possible emotion for me, John." The detective responded, looking away, sipping his drink.

"That's utter crap, and you know it. You're not some bloody heartless arsehole." John scoffed, he kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock, though the paler man had yet to look back at his blogger.

"How can you be so sure?" Sherlock asked after a moments thought. He finally looked back to John, "How do you know I'm capable of love?" 

"I saw the betrayal and hurt in your eyes, Sherlock. You might not have loved him, and thank god for that... But you did have feelings for him, maybe even trust him. So it hurt when he turned out to be your number one enemy." John explained and Sherlock shook his head.

"I don't know." He said quietly, staring down into his glass, closing his eyes for a brief moment. John watched him sort through his head and decided to try something.

"Sherlock." He said to get the man's attention, "What is love to you?" He asked and Sherlock straightened his gaze towards the doctor, "What does it mean, in your mind?"

"I..." Sherlock hesitated, taking a moment to consider that question, "I suppose it means trusting someone... And accepting someone for who they are... And knowing who they are, what they've done... And, wanting to spend your life with them anyways." He shrugged and sipped his drink, his cheeks flushing momentarily.

"Right. Good." John nodded, taking a big drink of his own whiskey, "I suppose by that definition... I love you." He laughed and downed the rest of it, standing once more to replenish his glass. Sherlock's head snapped up and followed John from his chair to the kitchen, eyes wide, heart racing. He thought for a moment that he imagined it, but knew from John's slow movements and lack of glances his way, he did actually say what he thought he'd said. He came back into the room, sitting in his chair and setting his glass on the table next to him. He sighed, smiling and looked straight across at Sherlock, who was still staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes. His mouth opened and shut a few times, trying to figure out what to say. John let out a breathy laugh and shook his head, but continued to look at the detective. Their eyes were locked in what could only be described as an intense stare down to see who would talk first.

Coming up with absolutely zero words, Sherlock decided taking action would be his best option, and once his butt was off the seat, he had no choice but to follow through with his initial thought. In no time at all he was at John's chair, hovering above the blonde man, hands rested on the arms of the red chair. John looked up at his detective, eyes wide, his heart pounded in his ears. Sherlock dropped down a few inches, resting one knee in the empty space of the chair that John's small frame didn't take up. In seconds his right hand cupped John's cheek as he moved in, stopping mere centimeters from his face, their eyes locked again. 

Sherlock's breathing hitched and John allowed his tongue to dart out to wet his lips, preparing for the contact that was bound to happen at any moment. Tilting his head slightly, Sherlock closed the gap, bringing their lips together for the first time. They stayed still, unmoving for a moment, until both men comprehended fully what they were doing. That's when John's hand wound up on Sherlock's neck, pressing their faces even closer, and the kiss was deepened. Neither man wanted to add unnecessary tongue yet. They just kissed chastely at first, and after the third small smacking of lips, John smiled into it, entangling his hands in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock rubbed his thumb along John's cheek and let out a small laugh as they rested their foreheads together.

"I would say, that by my own definition I love you..." Sherlock began, "But my definition of love was based off of the things I feel about you... So I suppose it was obvious." He spoke softly, softer than John had ever heard him speak and he decided there was no sound more beautiful and he opened his eyes, pulling his head back just a bit. Sherlock's eyes shot open at that movement, worry quickly filling them, "I'm sorry... I said something wrong?" 

"No." John laughed, "Not at all. You said something nice, it surprised me." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the statement, causing John to laugh more, "You love me?" He asked and Sherlock scrunched his face.

"I suppose if love is the normal term for the release of dopamine in the brain..."

"Shut up, you git." John shook his head and rolled his eyes, his smile reaching from ear to ear, "You've already basically said it, you can't change your mind now." 

"Oh I'm not going to change my mind, John. Once I'm set on something, I stick to it." He said suddenly very serious. John figured he just wasn't used to flirty banter and thought there wasn't anything more adorable than a flustered yet serious Sherlock Holmes.

"Very good to hear." John said, mocking his serious tone, "Now, would you mind terribly if I kissed you again?" 

"Not at all." Sherlock smiled and leaned down as John pulled him back into a kiss. This time allowing his tongue to slip gracefully into the detectives mouth. Sherlock caught it with ease and brought his other hand to John's face, then began controlling their movements by sliding his hands back into John's blonde locks. John let out a small surprised groan and his hands moved down to Sherlock's back, deciding if Sherlock was controlling their heads, he'd control their bodies. He dragged his fingertips around Sherlock's waist and pulled him down roughly, Sherlock ending up semi-strattling one of his blogger's legs. Their torso's were flush as their kisses grew hungrier, John allowed his hands to rest on Sherlock's arse. Sherlock had one hand still in John's hair, and the other one moved to his chest, pushing back and breaking the kiss, allowing the both of them to breath. 

"You are... Amazing." John praised, his head falling back against the seat as Sherlock leaned back, sitting lightly on John's knee.

"You expected less from me? Really John, I'm a graduated chemist who solves crimes for the Scotland Yard. I know how to kiss." He smirked and John opened his eyes.

"I thought maybe it wasn't important to you." John shrugged, "Seems like a legitimate thing for you to not retain in your mind palace." 

"True." He replied, "But I save certain things for moments like this." 

"Had a lot of moments like this, have you?" John teased, his words slurring a bit, the 5 glasses of whiskey showing through. 

"Honestly, no." Sherlock admitted, "You're only the... Oh, third person I've kissed." 

"Really?" John smiled, "Well then." He nodded and Sherlock decided it was time to climb off of his flat mate's lap, "Woah, where are you goin?" He asked, grabbing onto Sherlock's hand. Sherlock looked down at him and smiled contently. He leaned down and kissed John softly once before pulling back again.

"You're pissed and should probably head to bed."

"I am a bit, yeah. But don't worry, I'll remember this in the morning." John laughed and stood, swaying a bit, having to hold onto the side of his chair. Sherlock caught him with one arm, wrapping at around his waist.

"Just a bit?" He laughed, "Come on, I'll help you up stairs." He began to walk John from the room.

"Bet you will." John joked badly and stumbled a bit on the first few steps. After a minute too long, they finally made it to John's room. He crashed into the bed and Sherlock tucked him in, placing a kiss on his forehead before shutting off the lights and leaving the room, closing the door softly behind him. He leaned back against it and turned his head, as if listening for movement inside the room. He sighed and blinked a couple times, not knowing if he was trying to fully grasp what had just happened, or if he had fully grasped it, and was just... Happy.

"Happy?" He said quietly to himself, walking down the stairs and picking up his violin. It was time to think.


	12. Chapter 12

John awoke with a slight headache but otherwise feeling quite refreshed. He turned over in his bed and stretched, a tad uncomfortable, still being in his jeans. He rubbed his face and yawned, turning his head and glancing at the clock. He licked his lips, noticing how raw they felt and opened his night stand, feeling around for his handy spare lip balm. He dabbed some on his finger and rubbed the substance on his lips, it was while he was doing this that the previous night flashed in his mind and he stopped mid swipe. He held his fingers to his lips as they turned up into something of a smile. He'd snogged Sherlock Holmes, and enjoyed it. He'd also admitted he had feelings for Sherlock bloody Holmes, and those feelings were returned.

"What a night." He laughed quietly to himself and sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and standing. After one more quick stretch he grabbed the necessary toiletries and plodded down the stairs to shower. Walking through the sitting room he noticed a sleeping Sherlock on the couch, his back was turned to the public and his knees were drawn up to his chest. John stopped for a moment and looked at him, taking in the man's sleeping form. After his smile grew wider he shook it off and continued into the toilet. 

Sherlock opened his eyes to the sounds of clattering in the kitchen, he hesitated to roll around for a moment, worrying it would be Mrs. Hudson and she'd want to chat. But from the sound of the footsteps he knew it was John as Mrs. Hudson never walked barefoot. He stretched and sat up, tousling his hair a bit before he stood and walked into the kitchen, rubbing his face. John turned around and smiled.

"Ah, good morning sleeping beauty." He laughed and handed the detective a cuppa.

"Thank you." He said, taking a sip and groaning a tad in pleasure.

"That good?" John stared at him a moment longer, his eyebrows perked in interest. 

"So very good. Really John, you should make tea for a living." Sherlock said into his cup, turning and heading over to his chair. John may or may not have watched his rear end on the journey.

"I will look into that." John laughed, "I'm only a doctor, making tea should be a cinch." He said, spooning some eggs onto a plate and setting the hot pan back on the stove top. He then added jam to his toast and padded into the other room, sitting in his chair, "There's more food in there if you wanted some. But I figured you ate yesterday, so I wouldn't try to force you too much."

"You're learning." Sherlock smirked, sipping his tea again. John smiled and began eating his breakfast, enjoying the comfortably warm atmosphere they were in.

Sherlock was worried things between him and John were going to be awkward after the events of the previous night. But he still felt extremely right with the doctor, sitting across from one another, watching John eat. Those might have been two of the detective's favorite past times. Well short of solving crimes, of course. He steepled his hands in front of his face and smiled, he hadn't felt so content in a long while. After John finished his food and cleaned up the kitchen, giving Sherlock one more cup of tea. The detective grunted in appreciation, accepting the cup and allowing his fingers to drag slowly over John's as he took it. Testing John's reaction and looking for any hint of regret about their actions of the night before. 

John's reaction was to grab a hold of Sherlock's right hand and rub his thumb across his knuckles. He smiled softly before letting it go and moving to sit down at his laptop on the table.

"So, what's on the agenda today?" John asked, opening the computer and pulling up his blog. He leaned in and checked the comments section, seeing that everyone seemed to love it. He laughed to himself.

"What?" Sherlock asked, turning to look back at him, "I thought we would do nothing. That's what we usually do the day after we finish a big case." He shrugged and turned back around, John stared at him incredulously.

"Sherlock Holmes, prepared to do nothing." He shook his head, the smile lingering as he began typing up the last case.

"So often am I prepared to do anything, that occasionally, nothing is alright." Sherlock admitted.

"Are you feeling alright?" John asked sarcastically.

"Do shut up, John." Sherlock said, though he was smiling. 

"Never." John shot back, stopping his typing only for a moment to look over at Sherlock, who was indeed peeking over at him. They both smiled and turned back to their respective tasks. Sherlock's was doing nothing but drinking the tea John made for him, he smiled again at the thought. He could get used to John making him tea every morning, though he already had the past few months, something about the tea this morning felt better. And he liked it.

 

The next few weeks brought a multitude of clients, as well a large amount of clients for both John and Sherlock. The two still hadn't discussed that night, nor had they kissed again. The only thing that changed was their attitude and body language towards each other. Every time Sherlock complained about John's blog he just smiled and laughed it off, knowing the detective was just being a baby about everything. Their blogs had almost become a competition, well they would of, had Sherlock's blog gotten any hits. All of the requests for cases were coming through on John's website, Sherlock wasn't used to being the unsuccessful one.

Sherlock looked over John's shoulder and noticed him typing up the case about the dead German. 

"This is your living Sherlock-Not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash." John said, looking up at the detective who began sulking.

"Two hundred and forty-three." He began to walk away with his blow torch but John grabbed his hand. Sherlock looked back at John and smiled.

"Would you stop being such a git?" John asked and Sherlock seemed to consider it.

"Never." He smirked and John pulled him down, moving his hand from Sherlock's to his face, bringing him closer and kissing him softly. Sherlock stood back up, still smirking and put his safety goggles back on, firing up his blow torch and going back into the kitchen. 

 

A few days later, their faces were scattered all over the local papers. John was reading one of the articles, a look of incredulousness on his face.

"Hat-man and Robin?" He laughed, "You certainly chose the wrong hat to wear, they'll never let you live it down." 

"This one calls us blogger detectives." Sherlock sighed, throwing the paper aside and standing from the couch, John turned to him, setting his paper down.

"You alright?" He asked, tilting his head as Sherlock continued to stare at him.

"We are net phenomenons... Thanks to you." He rolled his eyes and stomped down the hall, having a very effective tantrum. John laughed a bit, turning to look straight forward shaking his head.

"Such a prat." He sighed and stood up, following Sherlock's path into his bedroom. John knocked on the door, though it wasn't closed and poked his head in. Sherlock was sitting on the side of his bed with his back to the door, staring at the wall, "What's wrong?" He asked with a sigh.

"Not a thing, John." Sherlock turned his head slightly.

"You're a bad liar sometimes, you know that?" John laughed and walked into the room, rounding the bed and standing in front of Sherlock, his arms crossed. He felt slightly like a parent scolding their child, "So tell, me, what's really the matter?"

"I'm being recognized for what you've written on your blog, not for my genius." He scoffed, looking up at John, "It's extremely frustrating."

"Well that's not true at all, the reason people read my blog is because I write about your genius. Without you there would be no blog, Sherlock." John sat next to Sherlock on his bed, looking over at him, "So stop the sulking." He reached down and grabbed the detective's hand, "It's really quite obnoxious." He laughed and brought Sherlock's hand to his lips, kissing it. He looked up at Sherlock who was staring over at him with his piercing green eyes. Without another word he moved in, capturing John's lips with his own. He cupped the sides of John's face, slipping his tongue into his blogger's mouth. John moaned a bit, rubbing his hand along Sherlock's leg and up his side, ending on his back just at his shoulder blade. He pulled Sherlock into him more as he moved along with every kiss. His eyes were squeezed shut and his heart was pounding as they broke for air, resting their heads on one another, Sherlock laughed.

"I could get used to this." He said, breathing heavily.

"You and me both." John replied, just as he was about to go back in for more, there was a shout from the kitchen.

"Boys! You've got another one!" Mrs. Hudson shouted and they both looked back at the door, and then back to each other.

"Client." Sherlock said with an eye roll.

"It would seem so. Let's go then." John said, kissing Sherlock softly one last time before standing and walking out of the room. Sherlock stood and adjusted his trousers before turning and following John down the hall and into the sitting room.


	13. Chapter 13

Having the occasional snog with Sherlock was one thing, but becoming sexual with him would be another thing entirely. John wasn't completely sure he was ready for that, so he tried to maintain a pg-13 nature to their make outs. He felt like a teenager again. 

After the man stormed into their flat and passed out, John went to the crime scene alone. He was almost positive that Sherlock wanted to solve the case quickly so John could come home and be with him, but John also argued they'd be together out at the crime scene as well. 

"Yes but not in the way I'd prefer." Sherlock explained, "Now hurry up and get back here." He could hear Sherlocks smirk through the phone and arrived at the crime scene, setting up his laptop for wifi and showing the scene to Sherlock via webcam. 

After they were cut off, and John found himself in a helicopter going God knows where, he could only hope that Sherlock had been mature enough to put clothes on. Then he walked into the room and knew immediately that he'd been too hopeful. 

"Are you wearing pants?" John asked after allowing his eyes to linger a bit on the bunched section of sheet around the detectives groin. 

"No..." Sherlock replied, looking at John as the two burst into laughter. 

Mycroft entered and gave them their assignment, and when he stepped on Sherlocks sheet, well John's heart almost stopped. And then it began to pound, having almost caught a glimpse of what he was sure would be a perfect arse. Perhaps he was ready to take things further with the detective. 

 "Don't be alarmed, it's to do with sex." Mycroft said to Sherlock as he was looking through the photo's of the Woman. John looked up at the same time Sherlock did and he looked from brother to brother.

"Sex doesn't alarm me." Sherlock stated, clenching his jaw. Mycroft smiled his smile that John only knew how to describe as Mycrofts 'Im-sure' smile. 

"How would you know?" Sherlock wasn't sure if his brother was unaware of his sexual exploitations, though the past few months showed that he was keenly aware; Or if he was challenging Sherlock to admit his follie. Either way he could feel John tense up next to him. 

As soon as they left the palace, they climbed into a cab in pursuit of Baker Street. 

"Really, though... You showed up to Buckingham Palace in a sheet. That's bold, Sherlock, even for you." John laughed, leaning slightly against him.

"I wanted to make a lasting impression." Sherlock laughed, pressing into John's side. 

"You certainly did." John laughed, "The impression of your arse will be on that couch for eternity." 

"People will come from all over to see the outline of the great blogging detectives bum." Sherlock joked holding his hands up as if imagining it. John laughed again, sitting up straight. 

"Okay, the smoking... How did you know?" He asked and Sherlock revealed the ash tray. He laughed again and looked out the window. As he did so he could have sworn he spotted someone snapping photos. He shook it off and turned back to Sherlock, "So what's the plan for Miss Adler?"

"Oh the plan, it's a brilliant plan. I'll fill you in as soon as it's fully developed." Sherlock turned to John smiling, "You'll play a key role of course."

"Oh, of course." John nodded, taking hold of Sherlocks hand and squeezing as their cab pulled up to Baker Street.


	14. Chapter 14

Irene Adler was not the only person receiving pictures of Sherlock and John. He scrolled through the photo's, a smile on his face. Seeing their laughs and smiles and... 

"Oh no, this just won't do." He said with a shake of his head, "Sebastian!" He called out to the man formerly known as Sebastian Smith, who ran into the room.

"Yeah boss?"

"Call the American's, tell them we know where Miss Adler is and that Sherlock Holmes will be there to deliver the phone to them." He laughed to himself. 

"But what about the deal you made with her?"

"Do I look like I care about that?" Moriarty turned to him with an unamused look, "Just tell them." Sebastian turned to leave, "Oh and let them know that if Sherlock resists, John Watson is his weakness." Sebastian nodded and left, Moriarty laughed as pictures of the detective and his blogger fighting in an alley. 

"Enjoy it while you can, Holmesy."

 

 

Hitting Sherlock felt actually kind of nice. But what didn't feel very nice for John was walking into a room to see a naked dominatrix strattling the detective.

"I've missed something haven't I?" John asked, trying his best to keep his eyes on the Woman's face and not look down to where she was spread eagle on Sherlock. As the Woman, who John can only assume is Irene Adler, as he hasn't been introduced yet, sits in the chair staring at Sherlock, he feels jealousy bubbling in his stomach, "I had tea too, at the palace... If anyone's interested." John stared at Sherlock as he stared at Irene, biting back the urge to clear his throat to make the detective look over at him. When he did in fact turn to him, he felt a small bit of relief in realizing that he was deducing him, and perhaps was failing to deduce the Woman. His eyes landed on his shoes and hesitated for a moment before turning back to look at Irene. And John could tell that he was right, because when Sherlock looked back to deduce him again, he saw a small bit of panic in his eyes.  

"Somebody loves you, if I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too." Irene said, glancing over at John who was still feeling uncomfortable. He laughed awkwardly.

"Could you put something on, please? Anything at all...." He glanced down at his hands, "A napkin?" John looked to Sherlock who looked back, smirking slightly.

"Why, are you feeling exposed?" She asked and Sherlock rose.

"I don't think John knows where to look." He teased.

"No I think he knows exactly where." She said glancing from John to Sherlock, and John was indeed staring right at the detective and when he glanced back at her, it was solely at her face. She smirked. Sherlock obliged him anyhow and gave her his coat, "I'm not sure about you." She said to Sherlock and John rolled his eyes, he did not want her to start flirting.

"If I wanted to look at naked women I would borrow John's laptop." Came his reply and John started smiling until he realized...

"You do borrow my laptop." He said and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

"I confiscate it." His tone said 'there's a difference now shut up'. 

"That story's not been on the news yet." He looked at her, not looking over at Sherlock, but maintaining awareness of his position.

"I know the policeman," She turned to him, smirking, "Well I know what he likes." John cleared his throat at the response, it was true, he was still attracted to females.

"Oh..." He smiled, "And you like policemen?" John decided to see if he could make Sherlock jealous as he sat next to Irene. Sherlock turned and looked at the two of them, not enjoying the feeling in the pits of his stomach. Sentiment, dammit. 

"Positionofthecar!" He shouted, deciding it was time to get John out of the room and safely away from the dominatrix. John stared at him, the pleasure with Sherlock's reaction obvious behind his eyes. Sherlock straightened himself up, explained the case a bit and then practically pushed John out of the room. Though it was time to execute their plan.

What was not a part of the plan, was the American's. As they had John at gun point on the floor, Sherlock's anger bit at the back of his throat. That anger quickly mixed with fear as they decided to use John against him. But luckily Irene was prepared for theft. After knocking out the American's John and Sherlock ran to the front doors of the house.

"That was close." John said, not quite laughing. Sherlock looked up at him and pushed him against the wall by the door, kissing him hard. When they broke, John nodded and licked his lips, "Right, I should almost get killed more often." 

"I don't recommend it." Sherlock said, "And stop being jealous of Irene Adler. It's annoying." He said it, but he wasn't sure if it was all bad.

"She said you were observant." John said, following him out the door, "We should call the police." And then Sherlock fired the gun, and then he was running around the house checking exits, and then he entered Irene's bedroom to find Sherlock nearly unconscious on the floor. And Irene was sitting in the window, with a rope, still in Sherlock's coat. And then John had to figure out how to get Sherlock out of the house and back to Baker Street.

"You are lucky I love you." He said as he hoisted the tall body off of the ground, "You're a lot heavier than you look." Sherlock grunted in response, not quite passed out, but not awake enough to be of help in moving his body. John mustered all the strength he could to carry Sherlock bridal style down the stairs and to the doors of the house. He was glad the cops hadn't arrived yet, that way no one would see him carrying the detective like that. Well no one except the unnoticed photographer across the street who was sending pictures to a very amused consulting criminal. 


	15. Chapter 15

John wasn't worried, per se, about the effect Irene Adler had on Sherlock. Well, he wasn't entirely happy about it either. But he didn't bring it up to the man in fear of angering the detective if he had to repeat himself. 

"I'm not interested in her, I'm interested in taking her down. She thinks she's beaten me." He said in response to John questioning his brooding one night, about a week before Christmas. 

"Oh of course. You've just hardly been able to pay attention to other cases, and..." He stopped himself from completing the sentence, but the damage was done. 

"And what?" Sherlock dropped his hand from his mouth and looked at John, only slight confusion in his eyes. 

"Nothing, it's... Nothing." John shook his head and stood from his chair, going to make tea. 

"If you're referring to the physical aspects of our experiment..." Sherlock said, "You should know you needn't worry about that woman."

"I'm sorry, experiment?" John stopped in his tracks and turned back to Sherlock, "This is an experiment to you?" His face showed amusement, but they both knew what that smile meant. 

"I'm collecting data and then using the findings to..."

"Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up." John held his hand up and rubbed his eyes, "You're a bloody..." He sighed and plopped back down in his chair. 

"I've said something wrong." Sherlock stated almost coldly. 

"Do you think?" John replied, sitting up and running his hands over his face, sighing more, "A few months ago, we declared... Well admitted... We said we had feelings for one another, yeah? And since then it's been a snog here, a snog there... It's been progressing very slowly, and I'm fine with that, I really am. I want you to be comfortable and completely sure. Just as I want that for myself." He stared at Sherlock briefly and the detective tilted his head at John, his green eyes as piercing as ever. 

"But?" He asked, urging John to continue.

"If this has just been an experiment for you, something to keep your mind occupied between cases..." He shook his head and stood up, "That's not what I'm here for." He smiled softly and turned, heading up to his room.

"John!" Sherlock called after him, but he didn't reply, nor did he come back downstairs. Instead he closed his bedroom door behind him with a sigh and laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, slightly regretting having ever admitted his feelings for Sherlock. But then he knew he'd feel worse in that moment if he'd had to watch Sherlocks infatuation with Irene and had to hide his jealousy. 

Sherlock stared at the stairwell in awe for about ten minutes before he finally snapped out of his stupor. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, knowing he should explain himself to John. It wasn't that he truly thought what he and John had was an experiment... It's just that... Well what was it? He supposed he'd know when he confronted the man.

He rose from the chair slowly, and silently climbed the steps; Not wanting to give John the chance to yell at him to go away. He stood outside the door for a moment, listening. Once he decided John wasn't sleeping he tentatively opened the door, peeking his head in he saw John's back turned to him. He sighed quietly and stepped into the room, padding over to the bed and taking a seat next to him, his back turned to John's.

"John." He said softly and he felt the blogger shift beside him. What was fascinating is that he didn't move away, but a tad closer so their backs were touching, "I'm sorry for what I said, it came out less well than I'd hoped."

"You got that right." John scoffed and started to say something else.

"Please, John, let me say this, because I don't know if I'll be able to if you throw my mind off track." Sherlock turned his head, peeking at John through his peripherals, he saw his head perk up at that, and knew he'd say something.

"Throw your mind off-"

"Please." He saw John lay his head back down and turned his head to face forward, breathing and looking down at his hands, "What I meant when I said this is an experiment... Was that I'm currently gathering data on you. And I know to you that sounds like I'm using this for some form of scientific research, but I'm not. I'm using these months of us... Testing our limits, and our boundaries... I'm acquiring as much data about you as I possibly can so that I know you. Better. I suppose you're doing the same for me. I just want to understand you, John. Before I engage with you further, I need to know you. We already share quite the bond, and I just want to be sure..."

"Sherlock, I'm not Moriarty." John interrupted, sighing as he rolled onto his back, "And it's called getting to know each other, and yes that's normal. And yes, that's what I'm doing with you as well. But you have to understand... I'm not like you. I'm not scientifically minded. I think with my heart."

"That's impossible..." He laughed and turned back to look at John, "You meant in a metaphorical sense..."

"Yeah." John smiled, "But I mean it, Sherlock. I'm not Jim Moriarty, and you can trust me."

"I know, that's what makes you different." He said and John furrowed his brow a bit, "I couldn't trust Jim, never did. It was a very odd attraction with him... But, I've trusted you from the very start."

"Well I'm glad you did. I mean you let me move into a flat with you, I hope you trusted me." John laughed, brushing off the sentiment slightly, but understanding what it meant for Sherlock. He smiled softly and held an arm out for Sherlock to lay into. The detective did just that and laid down against John, face to face, their foreheads together, eyes closed. It was like this that they fell asleep, not to be woken until morning.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to heat things up a bit...

John awoke the next morning nuzzled into the hair of a certain snoring consulting detective. He smiled, holding back the small laugh that formed in the back of his throat. He tried to wrangle his arm from beneath the curly haired man, but only succeeded in stirring him.

"Morning." John said as a bleary eyed Sherlock stared up at him.

"Mmm." He replied, rubbing at his eyes. John shook his head, noting how young he looked when he awoke. If he had a mind palace, he supposed he'd have filed away the beauty. Instead he chose to just never forget that look.

"I believe we had our first... Oh what does Mrs. Hudson call it..." John pretended to search for the word, but Sherlock beat him to the finish, probably assuming John had really forgotten it.

"Domestic." Sherlock sighed, sitting up, "Yes I believe we did." 

"Oh well, no bother. All is well now." John rolled out of bed and walked to his wardrobe, pulling out clothes, realizing he was still in his jeans, "I've really made a habit out of falling asleep while still fully clothed." He sighed, kicking off his socks with some difficulty. 

"You get used to it." Sherlock stretched, still staring across at John as if he was waiting for John to undress. John however stood there awkwardly, holding the items he was to put on. After a moment of staring across at Sherlock and realizing that he wasn't going to leave, he shrugged and stripped off his shirt. He turned and tossed it into the hamper, vaguely aware of the eyes on his back. With a slightly devious smile, he dropped his jeans to the floor, leaving him in not but his pants. Upon realizing he had a wicked case of morning wood his cheeks promptly flushed red. His fresh clothes were on the edge of the bed behind him, and he didn't want to turn around, knowing Sherlock would notice immediately. So he stood there, staring at the wall, not knowing what to do. Of course if he and Sherlock had been physical yet, it would be an easy answer. He'd turn around and upon seeing his erection, Sherlock would be glad to take care of it. But they were moving slowly, and now John was standing in the middle of his room with his back to his flat mate, trying his best to will away his pitched tent. 

"Bollocks." John whispered.

"You alright?" Sherlock asked, a slightly amused tone to his voice.

"I'm great." John said, trying to think of anything horrible, but only able to summon up images of Sherlock doing whatever he could to help John with his problem.

"You sure?" He asked, trying to gaze around John to see his face, though he knew that would be impossible.

"Very sure." Was all he could say. Sherlock sighed and stood up, deciding that exact moment would be good to show John how much he trusted him. He sauntered up behind him, though it didn't matter how he walked because John wasn't looking, and he wrapped his arms around John's shoulders, resting his head next to the shorter mans. John seemed to shudder beneath the touch, and Sherlock filed that away.

"Is there anything I can do to..." He muttered into John's ear but stopped when he glanced down, "Oh." He said and John sighed, resting his head back against Sherlock, "It's nothing to worry about, John. It's just a chemical reaction to do with waking up and--"

"Shut up." John said and Sherlock did as he was told. He took that moment to gather new data. Very slowly he turned his head into John and breathed lightly on his ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and pulling slightly. The reaction John experienced was unfathomable for the detective. He growled a little, turned quickly and slammed his mouth against Sherlocks. The detective didn't protest and kissed back, dragging his hands softly down John's back, still gathering information. John shuddered again at this touch and began pushing Sherlock back until he hit the bed. John stood above Sherlock, and the detective moved his kisses elsewhere, deciding it was time to find John's favorite spots.

He kissed his neck anywhere he could, and found that John responded the most when he hit the crevice, so it was there that he began to nibble. John's fingers were tangled in Sherlock's hair, pulling whenever he could remember. John found that Sherlock responded well to the pulling, it made him suck in breaths or bite harder. At one point it even caused his hands to tighten against John's back. After one particularly rough pull, Sherlocks hand snaked around to John's front. His fingers toyed with the top of John's pants until finally they slipped gracefully past the waistband. John halted slightly as he felt Sherlock's first contact with him in a sexual manner and looked down. Sherlock looked up, his eyes asking, "Is this ok?"

"It's ok." John smiled, leaning down and kissing his detective as Sherlocks slim and delicate fingers wrapped around his erection. He began to pump softly, causing a small noise to build up in the back of John's throat. He let it out as Sherlock went back to kissing his neck. He stood there, at the edge of his bed, holding Sherlock Holmes against him as the detective in question worked his hand around his member. The pleasure from the thought alone was enough to bring John to completion. But he didn't have to just think about it, it was happening. With the last pump, he moaned softly into Sherlock's hair, shortly there after he removed Sherlock's face from his neck and looked into his eyes, their breaths equally heavy. They both smiled as they kissed again.

"I swear, I'll have you right here on this bed." John said, noting how it would be normal to have him on his bed, but decided it sounded ok.

"Is that a promise?" Sherlock replied, much to John's surprise. He could get used to this side of Sherlock.

"I'd say so." John responded, running his hands through Sherlock's hair one last time before moving both hands to cup the sides of his face, he stared into the green-grey eyes.

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking into John's deep blues.

"Nothing." He smiled, "I'm just... Really happy, it feels a bit strange." He laughed as did Sherlock.

"I know exactly what you mean. Believe me when I say I'm not accustomed to happy." Sherlock smiled, closing his eyes. John leaned forward and kissed the detective's forehead before resting his against it.

"Oh what are we gonna tell everyone?" He asked and Sherlock shrugged, though he knew John couldn't see it.

"Nothing?" He suggested.

"Nothing..." John considered, "Sound good for right now."

"If we tell anyone, that puts you in danger." Sherlock said, suddenly very serious, his content tone vanished.

"I'm already put in danger. It's a part of running around London with Sherlock bloody Holmes." John replied, trying to bring back the light heartedness. 

"You've been kidnapped once, tied up once and held at gun point once. Two of those times were because of the effect it'd have on me, and one of those times was because they thought you were me, but that doesn't matter. What my point is, if the criminals knew you and I were... Romantically involved... It would amplify the danger for you, because everyone I go after would use you against me." Sherlock explained quickly and John nodded.

"I understand. So we keep it quiet. Completely hush hush." John agreed, kissing Sherlock's forehead again before standing up straight.

"For now." Sherlock said softly, looking up at his blogger and smiling, "Until it's safe."

"Until it's safe." John nodded, turning and grabbed the clothes he'd meant to 10 minutes ago, "I think I should go clean up."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas fluuuuuufffffff! (p.s. I'm doing GISHWHES... it's ridiculous and I'm trying to post chapters at the same time and it's just... It's ridiculous.)

"Must we invite them over?" Sherlock groaned a bit before their intended Christmas gathering.

"They're our friends, Sherlock." John replied, not bothered by his whining. He stood in the kitchen, preparing a tray full of baked goods no doubt cooked by Mrs. Hudson for the festivities. 

"Your friends." Sherlock mumbled, picking up his violin and plopping into his chair, plucking at the strings.

"I heard that." John said, walking into the room and leaning down, kissing Sherlock's temple, "They're your friends too, you just refuse to admit it."

"Nope." He said, popping the 'p'. John nudged him with his nose and stood up, shaking his head.

"Uh, question..." He said, sitting in the chair at the table behind Sherlock, "What... Are we going to tell everyone?"

"About what?" Sherlock replied, still plucking at the strings on his instrument.

"Us." John said, turning to look at Sherlock, his mouth agape.

"Oh." Sherlock sighed and put down the violin, turning back to look at John, "Why tell them anything?"

"Well..." John considered it.

"It's our business, what we do in our home is no concern of theirs." He explained it so calmly that John couldn't help but agree.

"Alright. So we say nothing." John nodded.

"Good." Sherlock turned back around.

"But when Molly embarrasses herself trying to hit on you, I'm not going to hide my feeling sorry for her." John said but before Sherlock could reply, footsteps started up the stairs.

"Yoohoo, boys!" Mrs. Hudson sang, "Greg is here!"

"Who?" Sherlock asked as the man in question walked through the door, "Ah, Lestrade. Why did she call you Greg?"

"That's my name." He said with an eye roll, "Hey John."

"Greg." John said, standing and shaking the man's hand, "Drink?" 

"Yep." Greg replied, walking into the kitchen with John. Mrs. Hudson was walking out, drink in hand though it was apparent she'd already had a couple. They walk back into the sitting room, drinks in hand and Sherlock gets up from his seat, allowing Mrs. Hudson to sit in it. 

"So, John," Greg began, "You gonna call that girl that gave you her number at the pub a few nights ago?" He asked and John laughed a bit, giving a small glance to Sherlock who was pretending not to have noticed by tuning his violin.

"I don't think so." John said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Why not? She was cute." Greg said, nudging John a bit, "You need a reason to get out of this house for a bit, get away from Sherlock. I'm sure he drives you mad." 

"Not as much as you'd think he does." John laughed, "I'm just not really looking right now. Keeping my mind focused on work and such." He cleared his throat.

"Oh, Sherlock, play a song for us?" Mrs. Hudson asked, taking a rather large sip of her beverage. 

"Gladly." Sherlock said, turning to the window and mumbling, "If it'll make everyone stop talking." He brought his violin up to his shoulder and sprang into  _We Wish you a Merry Christmas_. 

 

The evening came to an end. Sherlock embarrassed Molly, then apologized. Which, to John, seemed like a complete Christmas miracle. Then Irene Adler texted for the fifty-seventh time if he wasn't mistaken, and Sherlock retreated into his room. That meant the party was over, and John's plans to go out with Greg were null and void as he had to wait around the flat for Sherlock to return. Mycroft's orders. John wasn't sure if the elder Holmes knew of he and Sherlock's relationship, but he was sure the man suspected. He didn't care, it didn't bother him to have to stay home with Sherlock. What bothered him was the brush off he received when he returned home. 

John stood from his chair after Sherlock barged in saying something about his sock index, and walked down to the detective's room. Knocking softly and, as expected, receiving no reply, he opened the door. Sherlock lay in his bed, his back turned, clearly sulking.

"So, it was her, then?" He asked, stepping into the room.

"Yes, it would seem so." Sherlock replied quietly.

"Are you okay?" John asked, moving to the bedside behind the curly haired man.

"Is this a part of our... Whatever this is? You coming into my room and bothering me about feelings?" Sherlock snapped, then immediately regretted it. But didn't let John know that. John already knew that, he laughed. 

"Yes." John answered plainly, "I think it is, yeah." 

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Sherlock asked, holding the phone,  _her_ phone out to John. He took it and stared at the lock screen.

"You figure out how to open it. And then, once you do, you give it over to Mycroft." John replied thoughtfully. He set the phone down on the bed near Sherlock's pillow and laid behind the sulking detective.

"But what's the point now? She won't know that I've won." Sherlock said, scooting back against John so their bodies were flush. John wrapped an arm around his waist and rested his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"Is that really all this is, a game? Who has more power?" John asked, his brow furrowed.

"It might have been about power to her, but to me it's about cunning and skill. She died thinking she was better than me." John couldn't help but laugh at Sherlock's reply.

"You can't be serious." He laughed again before leaning his head down and kissing the detective's neck softly. Sherlock wiggled at this, and turning his body completely around so that his head was beneath John's chin, his curls ticking the blogger's mouth. John brought up a hand to smooth down the unruly locks and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and John did the same, and as Sherlock let out a slightly shuddered breath, John looked down a bit, "Are you certain you're alright? There's nothing else about her death that bothered you? She was... I guess you could have called her an acquaintance."

"She was far more than that, John." Sherlock replied, sucking in an unsure breath, "But she's nothing anymore." They laid there in silence for a few more minutes, breathing in each other's scent before John sighed.

"As long as you're alright, I'm alright." He said and Sherlock smiled against John's chest.

"Good." He said and then looked up at John, "Oh and Happy Christmas, John."

"You don't care about Christmas, Sherlock." John laughed slightly.

"But you do." Sherlock smirked and even in the darkness John could see it's beauty. He smiled widely and leaned in, kissing the detective deeply. Sherlock returned the kiss and after a few blissful seconds broke away, resting his head beneath John's chin once more. John couldn't help but feel a bit funny with the taller man beneath him, but he didn't mind. He closed his eyes contently and let himself drift into a peaceful sleep. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter. Sorry! Just wanted to get through the Irene Adler thing. It's like the Hounds of Baskerville of chapters. Heh, if you understand what I mean, then I love you.

"Tell him you're alive." Were the first words out of John's mouth upon seeing Irene Adler. He'd spent the last few nights with 'trying to hide the fact that I'm depressed with rude comments and cold responses' Sherlock, and he'd had enough. She read off the text messages and John was almost baffled, she was flirting with him, "You flirted with Sherlock Holmes."

"At him. He never replies." Her response made John want to laugh, but he thought he'd give too much away, "Does that make me special?" 

"I don't know." John said, trying to keep his face as calm and unfeeling as possible though his heart was pounding, "Maybe."

"Are you jealous?" Irene asked, seemingly seeing right through John's facade. He swallowed thickly.

"We're not a couple." He replied, not even believing himself.

"Yes you are." She responded with a smirk, and he thought they'd been sussed. Then she sent Sherlock a message. When they heard the moan ring through the warehouse, John wasn't entirely surprised. He'd half expected that Sherlock followed him, he probably saw him get into the car. 

 

The events of the next few months seemed to happen so quickly, Sherlock could barely keep track. Rather he wouldn't have been able to keep track had he not been a brilliant detective and could retain much more than the normal person. He came home to find a sleeping Irene in his bed, he cracked a code not to impress her, but to elicit a response from John. Though the only response he seemed to get was a jealous confession of John's middle name. He stared into Irene's eyes by the light of a fireplace and observed the same reactions he got from John every night. Then he found himself sitting in a chair, in a room with his brother and the very same woman whom he'd just taken the pulse of only hours earlier. Something wasn't right.

"Jim Moriarty sends his love." She said and Sherlock could feel her turn to him when she said it. 

"Yes, he's been in touch, he seems desperate for my attention." Mycroft replied and Sherlock scoffed. He wasn't sure if his brother was saying that for his own benefit, or if he really didn't know Jim and Jim Moriarty were the same person. But based on his prior feelings about the relationship, it seemed like the first idea was more pliable.

"Do you know what he calls you?" She asked, "The Ice man... And the virgin." Sherlock didn't know which one was intended for him, though he feared the latter. He certainly hoped Jim didn't go around calling him the virgin. Not that he cared... Though the confession helped Sherlock understand Irene a tad better. She was interested in him because she thought he'd never had anyone, yet little did she know, he had. But that didn't stop her from falling deep into her own game. He left that night feeling satisfied and went home to John. 

While he was headed home he received a message from a number he hadn't seen in a very long time.

_Hope you didn't mind Irene, she can be very persuasive. I also hope you didn't go falling for her, if you did, she might have to die._ _Oh, silly me, she already will._  

Sherlock sighed and debated whether he should respond. He knew he would, there was no point in denying it.

_Don't kill her on account of me. I thought I was in your way, you should be happy she got under my skin. The more she did, the more I forgot about you. -SH_

He sent the message and immediately regretted it, John would not be pleased. But he'd never have to know.

Sherlock reached Baker Street and climbed the stairs to the flat, bounding in the front door. John was sitting in his chair, reading and looked up from his book, his face surprised. 

"Where were you?" He asked, slightly amused.

"Mycroft." He replied and that was all John needed, "It seems that the Woman was working with Moriarty."  John's smile disappeared at the mention of that name, he clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly.

"And? Did he try anything, are you alright?" John asked, standing, quickly snapping into doctor mode, checking over Sherlock.

"I'm fine, John. He didn't show up and try anything. He just... Tried to get one over on me, but he didn't." Sherlock nodded and pushed John's hands away from his face, throwing his jacket aside and plopping down into his chair.

"Well that's good, I suppose." John responded, watching Sherlock, exasperated. 

"Mm." The detective replied, steepling his hands. His phone went off and he didn't move.

"You want me to get that?" John asked, rolling his eyes and moving to Sherlock's jacket.

"Yeah." Sherlock mumbled and John pulled the phone out of the jacket, "Who is it?" He asked and John unlocked the phone, furrowing his brow.

"Uh... Doesn't say, it's just a number." John read the message, not wanting to say it out loud and Sherlock didn't want to tell him not to read the message. 

"Well what's it say?" Sherlock asked, deciding playing dumb would do, though the concept was new. 

"She'll live for now. I thought your Johnny boy was helping you forget about me? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise already, Holmesy. I might have to do something about that." John sighed and scrolled up, reading the two previous messages as well as a few from months before. He walked to Sherlock and handed him the phone. Sherlock glanced up at him, worry in his brow.

"John." Sherlock said and John froze in place, staring down at the detective.

"It's Moriarty, yeah?" John laughed, "What..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and shifted his stance, breathing in deeply through his nose, "What are you playing at, Sherlock? Because I'm having a hard time following." He said it calmly, but with a deep anger. Sherlock would have been scared, had he not been himself.

"I'm not playing--"

"Yes you are!" He shouted and Sherlock was slightly taken aback, "I'm just trying to figure out if the joke's on me, or  _him_." He hissed the last word while pointing at the phone, "And I think you need to figure that out as well." John shook his head and left the room, allowing Sherlock the time to sit in his chair and think about his choices. Or at least he hoped Sherlock would think about his choices. Sherlock brought his phone up and stared at the screen. John didn't read out the last sentence of the message from Moriarty. Sherlock sighed as he read it, but didn't respond. Instead he put the phone down and rose from his chair, heading up the stairs into John's room, unsure of how this fight would end. The more steps he climbed the less he was sure of himself, he didn't like it. The words Moriarty wrote played through his mind over and over.

_We wouldn't want John to remain in the way of our happiness, would we?_  


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GISHWHES has ended, time to get back to writing. Here's some uh.... hot and heavy shtuff.

John allowed Sherlock to come into his room and lay with him that night after their fight. He allowed him to do so every night following as well, but they never spoke about the text messages. It was such a juvenile thing to be fighting about, text messages. And yet he found himself glancing over every time Sherlock received one. It wasn't until the "footprints of a gigantic hound" dragged them out to Baskerville and they were stuck in a hotel room together that they spoke of it. John brought it up their last night there. After they'd solved the case and Sherlock stopped being irrational. 

"So." John began, "Did you ever respond?" He asked the question so vaguely he wasn't sure if Sherlock would know what he meant. 

"No." He said in response, John almost asked if he knew what he was talking about, "There was no point in responding to him." Sherlock didn't want to argue about text messages, it was pointless.

"Good." John said softly, sitting on the bed, reading. Sherlock was staring out the window, as he often did. He breathed through his nose and turned to face John. 

"You're worried." He said and John looked up from his book. 

"Sorry?" 

"You're afraid I'm still interested in Moriarty." He said blankly, moving to sit at the foot of the bed. 

"It's not Moriarty I'm worried about, it's Jim." John explained, Sherlock furrowed his brow. 

"They're the same person, John."

"No, they're not. Moriarty is the consulting criminal that always seems to be one step ahead of us... Jim is a man you met at a crime scene who worked his way under your skin." He closed his book and set it aside. 

"You're worried that I'll leave you for him. Because I think that somewhere deep down, he's just Jim?" Sherlock asked, and then erupted into laughter, "That's ridiculous." He kept laughing and John couldn't help but join in. It was the first time in weeks that they were laughing together. John grinned across the bed at Sherlock, who stopped laughing and gazed back into John's eyes. 

"I'm an idiot." John stated, looking down at his hands.

"Not all the time." Sherlock replied, if only to get John to look at him again. 

"And you're an arsehole. But you knew that." John smiled again and this time Sherlock smiled as well. 

"And yet you've still managed to feel some affection for me." Sherlock stated and John nodded. 

"I feel a lot of affection for you, Sherlock. I wouldn't stick around if I didn't love you hopelessly." John said, his confession causing Sherlocks heart rate to increase exponentially.

"I wouldn't say it's hopeless. I do reciprocate the feelings." He inched forward on the bed, grabbing a hold of John's hand, "I never loved Jim... He was too intense, and... I always felt there was something off. The relationship was purely physical." John laughed. 

"Yeah, I really don't need to know that, Sherlock." He looked down at their intertwined hands and brought them to his lips, kissing Sherlocks knuckles before setting them back down, "Your past is your business. The only thing that matters to me is your future." He looked up, locking his blue eyes with grey-green ones. Sherlock half smiled and brought his free hand up to cup John's cheek. 

"Our future." He said softly before closing the now small distance between them and crashing their lips together. Between kisses, the fire growing in their stomachs and the anticipation throbbing in the back of their minds, they fell back onto the bed. Sherlock wound up on top of John strattling his leg and breaking apart from their kissing to breath. Between heavy breaths and small kisses, John brushed back the hair from Sherlocks forehead and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Sherlock." He said, and Sherlock could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. If it was possible for so much want and need and lust and love to be present while saying a name, John had just achieved it. 

"John." He replied, hoping he'd managed the same tone, unsure of himself. It must have worked because John pulled at the back of Sherlocks neck, bringing their lips together once more, but their kisses were different. Hungrier, somehow. John nipped at the detectives lower lip and sucked it as he pulled back, causing a moan to escape from the detectives mouth and he dove back in for more, not wanting to stop kissing his doctor. However, he didn't mind moving the kisses down to John's neck, nipping and sucking at all the spots he'd discovered were the man's favorites. 

"Sherlock, you're treading into dangerous territory." John said, "Are you sure you want to-" He was cut off by a list filled kiss from the detective. A small moan sounded in the back of his throat as he moved along with every flick of Sherlocks tongue. 

"I'm sure," Sherlock panted as he rested his forehead against his bloggers, "I want you, John." Those words were all he needed to hear, and with surprising strength he flipped Sherlock over, strattling the man's groin, working his hands down the detectives chest, leaving open buttons in his wake. As soon as his shirt was open, he raked his fingers up the pale skin, stopping only once he reaching Sherlocks neck and he lowered himself down, tangling those fingers in curly locks as he slid his tongue into Sherlocks mouth. He moved his lips over to the detectives ear and pulled softly at the lobe. 

"What do you want me to do to you?" He whispered seductively, sending shivers shooting down Sherlocks spine. John sucked in a breath as Sherlocks grip on his hips grew tighter and he rutted up against John's bottom. The doctor could feel his own pants grow tighter with every second. 

"Whatever you want." Came his reply and John laughed slightly. 

"Don't give me that freedom." John warned, "I've got quite a lot of thoughts running through my mind right now."

"I just want to feel you." Sherlock said softly, running his hands through sandy blonde locks. John growled a bit and ground down against Sherlock, kissing him hard and fumbling a little on his trousers, trying to open them quickly. 

"Luckily the couple who owns this place decided to be extremely uncomfortable and leave us party favors." John said, leaning back and opening the side table. 

"Come again?" Sherlock asked, and John smirked, holding up a small bottle and a gold square. 

"Be patient, you have to let it happen the first time before I can do it again." John joked, badly, but Sherlock didn't care, he laughed anyway. John set the 'gifts' beside them and started kissing down the detectives chest, stopping to push down his trousers and pants together. Sherlock lifted up to allow John to pull them down with ease. He did so and then nervously licked his lips, looking up at his detective, who ran a reassuring hand through his hair. John took a deep breath and then set all of his focus on the task at hand, "I'm new at this, so... Forgive me if I muck it up." He then took all of Sherlock into his mouth, or at least as much as he could manage. He focused on breathing through his nose and trying not to hit the back of his throat too much. Sherlock's grip in his hair grew tighter as he gasped in air. He managed a small quiet moan as pleasure rippled through him.

"John." Sherlock said breathily and he gripped the mans arm, pulling him away from his current task. John looked at him with concern filled eyes.

"Was I doing it wrong?" He asked, suddenly very concentrated, "I was just thinking about the way I-" Sherlock cut him off with a kiss.

"No you were doing it very well, it's just that I'd rather... Well when I said I wanted to feel you... That's not what I meant." Sherlock smirked a bit and then glanced down at the bottle beside them. John raised his eyebrows and laughed quietly.

"Oh, of course." John grinned devilishly and Sherlock swore he felt himself grow stiffer, it should be illegal for a man to be so attractive. John leant down and kissed him again and Sherlock allowed his fingers to curl around John's erection, being sure to pump it to maximum hardness. When he achieved the result he wanted he watched as John tore open the small gold package with his teeth and rolled it onto himself. He then slicked up his fingers, reaching down and pushing in, one at a time. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock softly as he worked in and out; Sherlock's response was to part his legs more to allow the doctor to slip another one in.

"Please." Sherlock breathed quietly and John obliged, removing his fingers and aligning himself, reaching down with a handful of lubrication. He hesitated for a moment, looking Sherlock in the eyes and receiving a nod of approval before slowly sliding in. He gasped at the initial tightness and had to stop halfway, resting his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck. The detective moved slightly then, placing a leg up on John's shoulder, the movement surprising John. He picked up his head and looked at Sherlock, who shrugged the best he could in his position, "Might make it easier." 

"Are you an accomplished gymnast as well as a graduated chemist?" John joked, he adjusted Sherlock's leg and pushed deeper, drawing out a small hiss from the detective before he pulled out almost fully and pushed back in again, this time getting a deep moan. Deciding he liked the different sounds he was getting, he pulled out again, pushing back in a tad quicker, with a moan of approval he repeated at this speed, dipping down and kissing his genius. Sherlock slid his hands up John's back, caressing and squeezing in the spots he'd discovered. As the pleasure began to build faster and faster, Sherlock couldn't control the sounds he was emitting. John was letting out a few of his own, his head resting in the crook of Sherlock's neck. He kissed there softly, but as the spikes of pleasure became increasingly intense, he took to biting that spot. Sherlock was aware of this, but didn't care if he left any marks, the euphoria clouding his mind. His nails dug into John's back as they neared their climax and John whispered between moans, "Sherlock."

The sound of his name bringing the detective to the edge, with the final hard thrust pushing him over and he swam the waves of satisfaction. The loud groan he let out at this burst of elation went right into John's ear and helped him find his finish. As the two men slowed to a stop, breathing heavily with sweat glistening off their backs, John picked up his head, kissing Sherlock over and over as he finally came to a stop over him. They lay there in unquiet bliss, breathing each others air and looking into each others eyes, the pure happiness not going unnoticed. John rested his forehead against his detective's and laughed, Sherlock of course joined in. He looked at his blogger who breathed in deeply through his nose, his eyes closed and he released the breath with a satisfied moan, leaning down and kissing Sherlock's neck a few times before finding the strength to roll off Sherlock, but not away. The detective followed his soldiers movements and turned to his side, running his finger tips up and down the man's arm lightly as he was propped up on the other one, the pleased smirk on his face unhidden. 

"That..." John began, "Was incredible." He said with eyes still closed. Sherlock laughed a bit in response.

"I agree." He said, moving his fingers up to run through John's hair before he dipped down, kissing John's temple. John sighed contently and finally opened his eyes, staring across at his lover.

"You are brilliant." He said, "Have I told you that?" 

"Once or twice." Sherlock said, and they laughed. 

"Seriously, if I had known that that's what I was missing, I'd have tried to shag you ages ago." John said with a smile stretched across his face.

"I'd have let you." The detective admitted and John shot him a faux surprised glance.

"Really?" John said, "Huh, well... Damn." He snapped, "Better late than never I suppose." He moved his hand to Sherlock's hip and pulled himself closer to the thin man, their legs becoming tangled.

 "So remember a little bit ago when I told you to do whatever you wanted with me?" Sherlock asked, and John looked at him.

"Yeah." He said, a slightly confused look spread across his features.

"What else was going through your mind?" John laughed.

"You really want to know?" He asked.

"Course." Sherlock said, "I always want to know what's going on in there." He tapped John's temple and smiled fondly. John's mind sparked and he propped himself up over Sherlock.

As he leaned down to kiss him, he stopped, inches from his mouth, "I'll just have to show you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think it's only right that their first time should be just a tad awkward, right? I mean it's John's first time with a man, and Sherlock's first time with someone he loves. So... Awk? Yeah. But adorably awkward!
> 
> Also, I don't enjoy writing normal smutty stuff. Like I abhor the word Cock. I also believe that Sherlock and John could come up with cleverer ways to say, "I want to fuck you" or "Fuck me" or blah blah those things. Just thinking aloud... Well not aloud... Thinking on the keyboard. Heh. Ok bye!


	20. Chapter 20

Thing after that were great. Or so they were led to believe. Sherlock's fame sky rocketed and soon everyone wanted a piece of the detective. They were finding it harder to keep their relationship under wraps, but managed to keep it out of the credible papers. There were no more text messages or surprise kidnappings, the duo was content. That is until a criminal mastermind broke into three places at once and wrote "Get Sherlock" in big clear letters.

"Perfect." Sherlock said with an eye roll as he and John arrived home from the crime scene.

"You're being called as an expert on Moriarty?" John asked, "Why?" He sat down in his chair as Sherlock continued to pace in front of him, John watched him walk back and forth.

"Because I'm the closest thing to an expert they have on him." Sherlock sighed, "I suppose I'll do my best to help put him away."

"But you're not going to reveal just how much of an expert you are, are you?" John asked, slightly worried that revealing any sort of relationship with the mad man would immediately cause grounds for suspicion.

"Don't be foolish, of course not." Sherlock smirked and leant into his blogger, "Wouldn't want the public thinking you've got competition. Confirmed bachelor John Watson." He winked as he went in for a kiss.

 

“We met twice, five minutes in total.” Sherlock lied on the stand, but he didn’t care. No one in that court room, save for John and Jim needed to know about his sexual history with the mad man. 

 As soon as Jim was declared not-guilty, he knew he’d be coming for him. So he made tea, and began to play his violin. The stairs of 221B creaked behind him but he didn’t stop, well just for a moment to readjust his bow. And then the door opened and he found himself face to face with Jim for the first time since the pool. 

 “Lovely to see you again.” Sherlock said, “Please, sit.” He motioned towards John’s chair, but the criminal sat in his.

 “I told you that chair is rubbish, Holmesy.” He smiled and sat, crossing his legs.

 “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sherlock asked, putting on his most intimidating face, while handing the man tea.

 “I think you know.” He replied, sipping his tea.

 “Well I’m not doing that.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 “Very funny, Sherlock. But no, what I mean is, I think you know why I’m here. I’ve come to thank you, first of all, for not informing the world of our relationship. It would be bad for business, don’t you think?” Moriarty smiled and set his cup down.

 “I think you mean former relationship.” Sherlock responded coldly, Moriarty laughed a bit.

 “No, I mean relationship. I meant it when I said you were mine, Sherlock. It’s your boy toy I don’t like snooping around in my problems. But you, it’s a tad sexy, don’t you think? The two of us, arch enemies, but secretly lovers. I like the sound of it.”

 “Forgive me if I don’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea. You’re a criminal, Jim. You’re nothing more to me.” Sherlock steepled his hands in front of his face as Jim carved into an apple.

 “Well, I think we both know that’s not true.” He scrunched his face, going on about fairy tale's and villains, “You will be mine in the end, Sherlock. You’ll come to me when the curtain falls, I’m sure of it.” He threatened calmly and it made the detective’s skin crawl. 

 “How can you be so sure?” Sherlock furrowed his brow as he stared across at the smiling criminal. 

 “Let’s just say I’ve got big plans for our future, honey.” He smirked and stood up, “And I’ve got big plans for you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you won’t mind leaving with me. It’ll be beautiful.” He straightened his jacket and smoothed down his hair, leaning down and leaving a light kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, he walked out of the room. The detective listened to him go down the stairs and out the door. He stood and grabbed the apple from the table, walking to the window and watching Jim climb into a black car. He looked down at the apple and a look of sheer terror spread across his face. Carved into the apple were two simple words, _be mine_. 

When John arrived back at the flat, all was quiet. He got nervous as he climbed the steps, gaining speed with every one. He entered the sitting room expecting it to be empty, but instead saw Sherlock staring at an apple.

"Sherlock?" He asked, walking to his chair where the detective was sitting. He plucked the apple from the detective's unmoving hands, "Are you alright, love? What's this?" He looked down at it, his eyes widening, "He was here, wasn't he?" His questions remained unanswered. He began snapping in the stoic face of Sherlock Holmes.

"Huh?" He asked, finally coming out of his trance about four snaps later.

"Moriarty. He was here." John stated rather than asking.

"Yes, he stopped by after being exonerated." He said plainly.

"And he left an apple with a special message for you?" John asked, holding up the fruit.

"He carved into it whilst he was here." Sherlock breathed deeply and stood, walking to the window. John watched and glanced back down at the apple, a look of disgust and worry on his face.

"What does this mean, Sherlock?" John asked finally after a few moments of silence.

"It means... We need a plan." The detective responded, turning back to John, "We need to be one step ahead of him without bringing it to his attention." 

"And what if he anticipates it?" John asked plain and simple, Sherlock began to laugh it off until he realized it was a possibility. 

"We'll have a code word." He shrugged after a minute, "To let the other know that he's won." 

"Great." John began, "What will it be?" 

"I don't know." Sherlock answered quickly, he decided to push all negative possibilities aside as he walked to John and cupped his cheek, caressing it softly, "Right now, I'd rather not care." He said quietly as he brought their lips together. John responded in kind and they made their way to the detective's bedroom. 

"We could just leave." John suggested as he and Sherlock lay in his bed, face to face, breathing each other's air.

"Running away would do no good, that means he won." Sherlock rejected the idea flat out.

"Right, we could just zap him and make him disappear." John tried to joke, only receiving a breathy laugh in response. Sherlock paid attention to the hand he was using to stroke his doctor's soft skin before breathing deeply.

"Like magic." He smirked, "Just a magic trick." 

"What is?" John asked, slightly confused.

"Nothing... Well... If Moriarty wins, if we lose... That's the code, that's how you'll know." Sherlock said, looking straight across into deeply concerned blue eyes.

"I hope I don't have to hear those words, then." John said sadly.

"As do I." The consulting detective half smiled in response, moving forward and kissing his blogger softly, "I really would rather not have to relay that message." He sighed and turned onto his back.

"But if you can't help it." John said, "I would rather you surrender to him than die." 

"Surrendering to him means death." Sherlock replied, "Because it would mean a life without you."


	21. Chapter 21

Boy did Jim have plans. As he sat behind his desk, making plans for Sherlock, he couldn't help but laugh. He laughed as he put the finishing touches on his children's DVD's.

"Sir boast a lot." He chortled, "Oh he'll certainly get a kick out of that one." He almost considered gift wrapping the video and sending it to his Holmesy, but decided against it. He tossed the plastic case aside as the door to his office swung open.

"Sir." Sebastian said, gun in hand.

"What?" Moriarty rolled his eyes and looked up at his henchman.

"Everything's ready." He said.

"Then why are you _at_ the ready, my dear Sebby?" He tilted his head at the man and he nervously lowered his gun, tucking it into his waistband, "See, now that wasn't so hard. Are the resume's printed, head shots edited, expose's written?" He stood slowly from his desk, buttoning his blazer as he did so.

"Yes sir." Sebastian said, still very clearly nervous, and stood at attention, stepping aside to allow the criminal to walk through. 

"Perfect, and the children?" He turned back to make sure Sebastian was following him down the hall.

"They've been taken, it's all set in motion." The henchman replied, walking just a step behind his boss.

"Good. Then I'll be going to see miss Riley tonight. I've already spoken to her on the phone, but I'll be bringing her the evidence." Moriarty smiled, gum smacking between his teeth, "Oh, and one last thing, Sebby."

"Yes?" 

"Torch this place. Grab the DVD from my office, and be sure to douse everything very well. We don't want to leave behind any evidence that Moriarty exists." He smirked as Sebastian bowed slightly in compliance and ran off to complete his duties. Jim grabbed the files awaiting him at the front door and pushed through it, pulling out his mobile to ring Kitty Riley along the way.

 

 

John wasn't going to sit back and watch Sherlock get arrested for something he knew he didn't do. And as they ran through the streets of London, trying to figure out their next move, he was just glad to be at the detective's side. But when they were at the journalist's flat and Moriarty walked through the door, he wanted to kill the man.

"Dr. Watson, I know you're a good man." The liar said, his act was almost convincing. Had this man not tried to blow him up, he might have believed it. The look he shot Sherlock as Kitty stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders, John knew the look. It spoke wonders. It said,  _Are you jealous yet? You should be._ He'd shot Sherlock that look a few times when the detective interrupted his dates.  _  
_

Sherlock sat back in quiet despair as he lied to John, knowing full well that Mrs. Hudson was not dying of a fatal gun shot wound. He just needed to have some time to speak with Moriarty on his own.

_St. Bart's Hospital rooftop. It's time to talk. SH_

He knew once he sent the message that he'd get a response. And he knew he had to get John out of there, so he arranged for a member of his homeless network to call John, pretending to be an EMT. It wouldn't give him much time, just enough to get up to the roof and to see Jim.

_I'm waiting... JM_  

He got a response a minute after John ran away, after calling the detective a machine. The words should have hurt, but he was too enthralled in his character to care. He got up to the roof, and Jim was there, listening to his favorite song, ready to negotiate.

"Here we are, you and me Sherlock. The final problem. Staying alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" Jim smiled crazily as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, "You and I both know why we're here." 

"Yes of course." Sherlock reached the man's proximity and held his hands behind his back, waiting.

"My whole life I've been searching for distractions, and you were by far the best one. But now I don't have you. That needs to change." Jim stood and stepped a bit closer to the detective, "I don't want to go back to playing with the ordinary people, Sherlock, I want you back as a distraction."

"I'm afraid that won't happen." Sherlock replied plainly.

"Oh why not! I've already helped you out, made it so you're an outlaw. A fugitive. Everyone thinks you're a fraud. So come with me." Moriarty threw his hands out to the side, as if expecting Sherlock to run into his arms.

"Why make yourself out to be a good guy, then? Why not just make me a liar and a psychopath and still have me come with you." Sherlock asked.

"It was more fun this way." Moriarty shrugged, sniffing a bit, "Here's what's going to happen, Sherlock. You're going to fake your death. Jump off this building. And then you're going to come with me." His face became very serious.

"Why would I jump off the building."

"Complete's my story." Jim smiled.

"Suicide of a fake genius." Sherlock smiled as well, closing his eyes.

"Front page headline on all of tomorrow's newspapers, I guarantee it." Jim continued to smile at Sherlock, when the detective made the rash decision to grab Jim by his lepels, at first Jim groaned in approval, but soon realized the detective was holding him over the edge of the building, "Ah, not so fast."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just throw you over."

"Because your friends will die if you do." Moriarty's smirk grew as Sherlock stared down at him wide eyed.

"John?" 

"Not just him." Jim smiled sadly.

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Getting warmer."

"Lestrade."

"There you go, big boy. Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. That is unless you..." Sherlock brought him back up to standing position.

"Kill myself, complete your story."

"You've gotta admit, that's sexier." Jim brushed himself off, "There's no stopping my men, now. They have to see you jump." 

"You think this is the best way to get me to be with you?" Sherlock asked coldly. Jim stared across at him angrily.

"No, but you've left me with NO OTHER CHOICE, Sherlock." He screamed, but composed himself, closing his eyes and breathing in through his nose slowly, "So I've come to this, this is what you're little boy toy Johnny Watson has reduced me to. If I knew you liked playing with the ordinary folk, I'd have bought you a pet, Sherlock. You didn't need to stray." 

"You're insane." Sherlock growled, turning his head to face Jim.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty giggled, "Go on, get on up there."  Sherlock sighed and stepped up onto the ledge.

"Do I get to make one last phone call?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh of course. Must call John, tell him you love him." Jim scoffed, "And look, you've got quite the audience. My men will move in with a crash pad in a few minutes, and you will land on it. Then you'll be transported to the back of the building, where I will be waiting for you. We'll leave together. It'll be great." He said laughing slightly, he stepped back away from the ledge as Sherlock picked up his phone, calling John just as the man's cab arrived. 

Jim watched from behind the detective as he made his last phone call, it gave him a sense of pleasure to know he was getting what he wanted. 

"Turn around and walk back the way you came." Sherlock said through the phone to John, "Just do as I ask, please." 

John walked quickly back to where he'd come from, "Ok, look up, I'm on the rooftop." He heard through the phone and turned to see that Sherlock was indeed up on the ledge of St. Bart's.

"Oh God." He said quietly.

Moriarty did his best to stifle a laugh as he heard Sherlock explain that the rumors were true, he knew John probably wouldn't believe them, but it was cute of Sherlock to try. 

"Nobody could be that clever." He heard Sherlock say. And he said quietly to himself,  _you could._

"You could." John responded.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." Sherlock breathed in, readying himself to say the words he'd wanted to say since the beginning of the conversation, "It’s a trick. Just a magic trick."

John's heart nearly stopped. He'd won. This was Moriarty's doing, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it, "No. All right. Stop it now." John demanded, beginning to walk a bit.

"I wish I could," Sherlock started to say before he saw John move, "No! Stay exactly where you are!" John froze in place.

"All right, love. All right." John said softly into the phone.

"This phone call.. It's my note." The tears were falling freely down Sherlock's face, "It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?" 

"Leave a note when?" John asked desperately, staring up at his detective.

"Goodbye, my love." Sherlock said, throwing his phone aside as he heard John say no, don't. The phone hit the gravelly building top with a thud and Sherlock glanced back momentarily, locking eyes with Moriarty. As he looked back down he saw the inflated pad beneath him and he fell forward. Moriarty laughed out loud as he heard John scream Sherlock's name and ran to the edge of the building to watch Sherlock land safely. Everything was running smoothly. The temporary corpse was removed and Sherlock was being put into place, blood being poured on him and a squash ball being placed in his arm pit. He smiled at his success and laughed a bit more when he watched John run to the detective's side.

John took Sherlock's pulse and after finding none and watching the man get carted away he glanced up to where he'd just jumped from. His brow furrowed as he saw a man disappear from the edge. He breathed deeply and decided to follow the doctor's with Sherlock's body. He snuck around the corner and down the alley to find the stretcher was empty, and the doctor's and nurses were nowhere to be seen. All he saw was a car door shut and the car speed off. With a sad sigh he turned around, heading out of the alley and back home to Baker Street.

 

Sherlock wiped away the blood from his face and sighed, "This will take forever to get out of my hair." He tried to ruffle it a bit to no avail.

"Sorry, Holmesy. First things first is to get you a shower." Moriarty laughed as he glanced across the car at his detective, "I'll help." He winked and Sherlock breathed in, blinking back tears and stared out the window.

"Where are we going?" He asked, still staring away from the criminal.

"Somewhere safe. Who knows. Maybe America? That'd be fun, wouldn't it!" He reached into a bag and pulled out two passports, "I've got everything covered, Sherlock. It's a perk of being a spider at the center of a web." He smirked at his use of Sherlock's words.

"How wonderful for you." Sherlock sighed, resting his still bloody face against the window and closing his eyes. 

"We can't leave yet, of course. We have to watch your funeral." Moriarty said.

"What?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Oh yeah, don't you want to see who shows up and who feels guilty? Who do you think will cry the most? I think John will cry buckets and buckets." He laughed a bit.

"I'd rather not." The detective replied.

"Too bad." Jim replied in mock sorrow, "I've already set up the cameras at the cemetery." 

"Wonderful." 

 

 

John stood at Sherlock's grave, and turned to see Mrs. Hudson walking away. He sighed and clenched his fists, turning back to stare at the black head stone before him. He pulled himself together enough to say what he'd been meaning to.

"You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were  _human_ , but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There." He nodded to himself, very pleased with his speech, he walked up and touched the headstone, wishing that he could feel Sherlock's skin against his one last time, " I was  _so_  alone, and I owe you so much." He let out a few tears, wiping them away immediately he cleared his throat, beginning to walk away, he noticed something mechanical in the tree next to Sherlock's grave. Narrowing his eyes at it, he realized it was a camera. Breathing in deeply, he turned back to the black stone, "No, please... There's just one more thing, love; One more miracle... Sherlock, for me.. Don't be... Dead. Would you do..." He said it to the head stone, but then turned his attention to the camera, "Just for me? Just, stop it. Stop this." He said it a bit angrily, clenching his jaw, balling his fists. After wiping his eyes again he turned and walked away, hoping that whoever was on the other side of that camera had heard him.

Sherlock sat in a room with Moriarty, holding onto a tablet, watching the scene unfold.

"Awe, so heartbreaking." He laughed and Sherlock blinked back tears.

"Yes, very." He shook his head and stood from the couch. Jim watched him get up.

"I'm sorry, did that upset you?" He asked, standing as well, putting the tablet aside.

"A bit." Sherlock admitted and as Jim reached him, he placed a reassuring, as reassuring as he could be, hand on his shoulder.

"Look, Holme-- Sherlock... I realize this isn't ideal. And honestly, I don't care." He laughed a bit but soon regained his sympathetic composure, "Two years."

"What?" Sherlock asked turning to look at the criminal.

"In two years, I'll let you go. And you won't hear from me again. Tell everyone I blew my brains out on that roof top." He smiled, "Deal?" He held out his hand.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, rather unconvinced by his kind facade.

"Because... This is as close to love as I'm ever going to get, Sherlock. You know that, don't you?" Moriarty raised his brow and lowered his head, seemingly very vulnerable, "And apparently if you love something you should let it go. And I will."

"This isn't letting it go." Sherlock responded.

"I know, doofus." Jim laughed, "But in two years, I will let you go. I promise. Just, give me this... I'm asking nicely. As nice as a psychopath can." He smiled fakely and continued to hold his hand out for Sherlock to take. The detective did so cautiously.

"Deal." He shook Jim Moriarty's hand and didn't let go, instead pulled the man closer, indulging in the psychopath's desires.

"Ooh, Holmesy." Moriarty exclaimed, Sherlock rolled his eyes as he leaned in for a kiss.

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This aint over.. I'm just trying to decide if I should end this particular story and make a whooooole new one? Maybe. Like make this a series? Yeah? No? Idk. I'm not even sure how to create a series, or collection or whatever on here. I'm NEEEWWWWWWW!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to just continue the story under the same title, screw series, LET'S GET UP THERE IN CHAPTERS! WOOH! Sorry, I got too excited.

A year and a half passed, filled with grieving and crying and nightmares from which John would wake up screaming Sherlock's name. He hadn't been back to the flat... He decided it would have been too painful, trying to sleep in a bed that didn't feel warm without the detective's presence. So John found himself a small flat, not too different from what he'd been in before Baker Street. It was small and cold and not at all homely, but it kept him safe from the bipolar weather of London, and that was all that the doctor could bring himself to care about.

He got a mundane job at a small practice... One should hardly call being a doctor a mundane job, but after years with Sherlock, that's exactly what it was. Perfectly ordinary and mundane, but that's what John needed. And that's where he met her. It wasn't terribly easy moving on from the great love affair that was his relationship with Sherlock Holmes, but she made it a bit easier. The blonde beauty came in looking for a job as a medical assistant and not only got it, but ultimately got John's heart in the process. Within two moths he was moving into her house.

She wasn't completely ordinary, though. There was a unique confidence to Mary Morstan that reminded John of the late consulting detective; She also had a familiar gleam in her eye, as if she knew what was going on when no one else had a clue. He was smitten, sure... But not even her warm, loving smiles and soft touch could fill the gaping hole in his heart that had been left behind by a one, Sherlock Holmes. But it'd have to do. Whether he was really dead or not, John knew there was no hope of him returning, no hope that he'd escape Moriarty's grasp. He told himself he loved Mary, that he was happy to spend the rest of his ordinary life with her; Perhaps that's why he bought the ring.

 

 

 

"Woodford is gone." Moriarty said to the former consulting detective he had lying next to him. Sherlock sighed, blinking above him at the bare ceiling. 

"Why?" Sherlock croaked, closing his eyes and swallowing. 

"Because... You and your idiotic antics went and got yourself discovered by brother dear..." He mocked, "And now we have to play this game of, 'Oh Mycroft, I faked my death to stop Moriarty.' So now six of my best have been removed from my... Oh how did you put it, my web. Because I'm a spider." The criminal spat out but stroked a hand softly over Sherlock's chest, his finger shining. Sherlock looked down at the gleaming ring and rolled his eyes.  _Marriage_. Why did he ever agree to it. Oh, right... Because Moriarty threatened John after the detective had escaped and gone to Mycroft a year before. Proposing marriage was the only thing that calmed down the psyhopath. Sherlock scoffed, pushing the criminal off of him and he stood. 

"What!?" Moriarty asked, mild annoyance crossing his features. 

"Nothing... It's just... Time for me to go. Mycroft has almost completely inserted himself with the Serbians." He scratched absently at his hair. 

"And you didn't grow out that disgusting rat's nest for me. I know." He sighed his reply, having known this day was coming. He got off the bed, still completely nude, walking over to the other man  and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair, grabbing a handful at the bag and tugging, moving to whisper into his ear, "It is just a tad sexy, though. C'mon Holmesy... If this is to be our last night..." He looked down at their unclothed bodies and then back up, a smirk on his face, "I want you one last time." He tugged at the long black hair one more time before the detective responded, grabbing Moriarty by the throat and pushing him back against the wall. The criminal grunted from the mild pain, but kept his smile, which was forming into a full blown grin. The look behind Sherlock's eyes was wild, almost akin to the look the night he'd seen Jim at Kitty Riley's pretending to be Rich Brook. He leaned in, their noses almost touching, eyes staring down at Jim's lips. 

"You'd be wise to cherish this, Jim... As it will never happen again." He hissed, pausing a moment to take in the man's response to his warning before moving in and pressing their lips together for the final time. 

Sherlock knew he'd be captured and beaten... He also knew to expect Mycroft. What he didn't know was what to expect from John. He looked through the files, stopping to comment on the mustached soldier. He liked it, he did... His doctor did possess a certain sex appeal with the facial hair. But it was grown in his absence, so as far as Sherlock was concerned, it was a grief mustache. It would have to be gone before he could even think about kissing the man again. 

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And all such nonsense." Mycroft remarked as he observed Sherlock going through John's files. 

"Where will he be tonight?" Sherlock asked, shrugging into his long lost, beloved coat.

"Thinking of poppin, are we?" Mycroft's smug look bothered Sherlock down to his bones. 

"Why not? He'll be thrilled." Replied the detective, not giving his brother the satisfaction of knowing he'd bothered him.

"You think so? A lot has happened in two years, Sherlock."

"Yes. And now it will all be set right and we can go back to the way things were." Sherlock turned to walk out the door, "I'll be off--"

"Not so fast," Mycroft interrupted, holding up papers, "You're forgetting something."

"I don't know why this has to be done the legal way..." Sherlock scoffed, walking to the desk and grabbing the forms from his brother, "Can't you just destroy all evidence it ever occurred?" 

"Cleaner this way, less explanations. You're the one who married a criminal."

"I had no other choice." Sherlock defended, standing up straight and squaring his shoulder's. 

"And we have no other choice than to take him out. I trust you're okay with that decision?" Mycroft inquired as Sherlock signed his name, thus becoming officially un-wed.

"I gave you his top locations, did I not?" He sighed, sliding the forms back toward his brother. 

"You did. He's under surveillance." The elder Holmes took in his brother's reactions, unsure if he was telling the complete truth. 

"Take the shot as soon as possible. Or he'll get away. I'm going to tell John he's dead, so we can't let that happen." Sherlock backed away from the desk, moving closer to the door. Mycroft followed, his hands clasped behind his back.

"And when, pray tell, did he die?" 

"On the roof top, blew his own brains out." Sherlock replied, a smirk on his face.

"Brilliant." Mycroft's eyebrows raised, almost sarcastically. 

"I try... Now... I'll be off." He sighed and turned to Mycroft one last time before leaving, his own eyebrows raised, "Blood." And he turned, heading out the door before Mycroft had time to warn him about the doctor's new girlfriend or the transaction at the jewelry store. But the detective was already on his way to confront John.


	23. Chapter 23

John settled into his table, Mary went off to the loo or to use the phone or possibly both. It mattered not to John, he used the extra time to ready himself. He tried to formulate his speech in his head, he was never good with prepared words. There was an overly friendly waiter who he didn't bother to look at, but could feel his eyes on him and swore for a moment he heard him mutter something about endeavoring to surprise him. He shook off the feeling in his gut as he saw Mary descend the steps. He shoved the ring box into his jacket and breathed deeply.

Sherlock's heart nearly stopped when he saw John again. Alive and well, for the first time in two years. It almost didn't matter that he was on a date. He knew once John saw him again, whatever floozy he was with wouldn't stand a chance. His assumption changed slightly when he hovered over John and saw the man fingering a small square velvet box.  _This would not do._ He watched from afar, a bottle in his hands, listening to John stumble nervously around his proposal, laughing to himself. It was time to intercede. 

John laughed as the waiter interrupted them, his smile however, faded when he looked up. His hearing went away, and suddenly, the room was silent and spinning as he stared up at Sherlock. His heart healed itself and then broke again in that moment. It broke for himself, it broke for Mary and it broke for Sherlock. This would not be the happy reunion the detective was undoubtedly expecting. He stood from the table, eyes hesitantly turning upward. He saw the surprise and miscalculation registering on the older and somehow less porcelain face of Sherlock Holmes. John didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he settled for punching the table as Mary tried to calm him down.

"Two years..." He growled, "You let me grieve..." He shook his head. How could the man that claimed to love him have done that to him. John was torn between kissing him and killing him.

"Are you really going to keep that?" Killing him it was, then. But just touching him, even if it was with his hands around his throat, was like a shock to the brain for John. He allowed himself to be pulled off and ushered out of the building. He found himself not wanting to say goodbye, no matter how angry he was with Sherlock. He wanted him to stay around for the time being. 

"I suppose you're done talking?" Sherlock asked, rubbing at his throat.

"No, I still want to talk. Come on. Mary." He growled, starting down the street. Sherlock looked to Mary who looked back to him, concern in her eyes, and they followed him. Sherlock began his deductions on Mary while they were still at the restaurant, and as he spent time closer to her, more information fed into his brain. He, of course, stored it for later review and chose not to dwell on it while he was in John's presence. 

They made it to the smaller restaurant, which was of course far less classy than the previous and sat at a table. John and Sherlock across from each other, Mary next to John. She seemed to be observing the detective just as much as he was observing her. Sherlock also made note to review that later. 

"Once we were on the roof I calculated thirteen different scenarios..." Sherlock began, but John held up his hand and shook his head. 

"Shut up." John said, crossing his arms, "I don't care how you did it. I want to know..." He sighed and looked down, leaning forward and then glanced back up at Sherlock, unable to finish his sentence. 

"It was mainly Mycroft's idea..." Sherlock said, his first lie. He knew he shouldn't be lying to John, but it had to be done.

"H-he knew?" John stuttered, trying to fathom that possibility,

"He would have needed a confidant." Mary interjected, and they stared at her, "Sorry." She went back to sitting back in her chair. Sherlock plucked that bit of information, the file on her beginning to grow already.

"Well I'll tell you what," John began, turning back to Sherlock, "There's auditions for Richard III going on right now, he should try out. He's a fantastic actor. He was completely heart broken at your funeral. Your parents too." He raised his brows, "Your mum cried on me for hours. Did they not know?" He stared across at his former lover, Mary began to rub a hand along his back.

"Mycroft knew, they couldn't know. It was pertinent that as few people knew as possible." John laughed slightly and nodded his head, his eyes saying all Sherlock needed to hear. He could almost hear the question in his mind,  _And I wasn't important enough to know?_  

"And what happened to Moriarty?" He asked instead.

"Shot himself. Mycroft's men cleaned it up before news broke to the public." 

"He shot himself?" John asked, slightly amused but still angry, "I find that to be completely unbelievable." He shook his head, unwilling to believe that Moriarty was dead.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, trying to seem as offended as possible.

"You... You said the code word, Sherlock." John sighed, dropping his voice to a growl, "You said it. Remember? Magic trick? Moriarty has won?"

"He did win, John." Sherlock replied quickly.

"He shot himself before you called me?" John asked, incredulously.

"Yes." He replied plainly.

"Then why did you jump?" He began shouting, but dropped his voice after the second word, not wanting to draw more attention to them. They sat in silence staring at one another. A server came to their table and they all looked up.

"Excuse me, sirs and ma'am... But I'm going to have to ask you to leave, you're disturbing the other customers." She said as politely as possible. John laughed and stood, hurrying out the door, rubbing his eyes. Mary and Sherlock exchanged another look, both tilting their heads. It was meant to be intimidating, but Sherlock found himself quite impressed with Mary's demeanor. Cursing himself he stood, following John out the door. 

They found themselves standing in an even smaller, and less classy establishment. Mary and John were leaning back against the counter, Sherlock standing in front of them. 

"I need you, John." Sherlock said, and then cleared his throat, "I need your help, I mean." He gave his best smirk and nodded, John widened his eyes.

"Why should I help you, you haven't even answered my question?" John asked, staring directly at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

"For god's sake, John..." He grunted.

"You can't just come back and act like everything's okay, Sherlock. Like I'm just gonna jump back into it. I can't do that." John said, his voice getting gradually louder, the other people in the shop started to stare, Sherlock looked around and shushed him, "Oh sorry, am I being too loud?!" He shouted. 

"Quiet."

"Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong? The only one reacting like a human being?"

"Over reacting!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, making John even more angry.

"Over reacting!?" He shouted. Mary laughed, and said his name, "So you fake your own death?" 

"John!" Sherlock hissed.

"And you waltz in here, large as bloody life..." He continued.

"Hush!"

"But I'm not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly  _okay thing to do!"_ He ended on a shout. _  
_

"Shut up, John! I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it? Haven't told the whole world yet?" John laughed.

"Yes, it's still a secret, I came to you first." Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes and then looking back down at John, "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Swear to god!" He shouted, still somewhat angry, but a bit calmer. They stared at one another in silence as they both calmed down. The air between them grew thick, and started to make Mary a bit uncomfortable, like she was intruding.

"Are we ok now, boys?" She asked, breaking the stare, causing them both to look at her. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"As I said before," He looked from Mary back to John, "I need your help, John. London is in danger, there's an eminent terrorist attack." John widened his eyes again, looking amusedly to Mary.

"My help?" He asked, mouth agape.

"You have missed this." Sherlock smirked. John shook his head, the anger filling his eyes again, "The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the  _two_ of us against the rest of the world." John had enough, reaching forward and grabbing Sherlock's jacket lepels, for a moment Sherlock's heart stopped, remembering the previous times he'd been grabbed like that by John, but he was not expecting John's forehead to come crashing into his nose.  _  
_


	24. Chapter 24

"I like him." She said, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't know if she was being honest or if she was just trying to make sure John wouldn't see her as a barrier between him and his formerly dead best friend. There had been rumours they were lovers, but she never believed them. She glanced sideways at him in the car as they rode in silence. 

When they got home they went straight inside, John went straight for the scotch. 

"So..." Mary said, plopping down onto the couch and staring at her boyfriend, "Weren't you going to ask me something at the restaurant?" 

John stopped mid-sip and turned to her. He put his drink down and laughed a bit, clenching and releasing his fist. Before Sherlock had shown up that night he'd been 100% sure of what he wanted, but now, not so much.  

"Eh, it wasn't important." He replied, picking up his glass and heading to sit next to Mary on the couch. 

"Sounded important." She said, eyeing the bulge in his jacket. 

"It might have been, but I cannot, for the life of me, remember what it was that I was going to say." John lied, downing his drink. 

"Oh." She replied shrugging, "Never mind, then." John sighed, he knew she'd been expecting it, she was observant, how could she not. But there was no way he could do it anymore. Not until he found out for sure what had happened. 

 

_I'll talk him round_... The words kept playing through Sherlock's mind all day as he went out on cases with Molly Hooper. He knew she'd been threatened by Jim to keep Sherlock's survival a secret, and he felt he owed her a day out with him to make up for it. 

"I know what today was." She said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, giving her his best confused face.

"You don't have to worry about me, Sherlock. I've been fine. Really." Molly said nervously.

"You were frightened for your life every day for two years, I wouldn't call that fine." 

"It got easier to deal with after a while." She shrugged, looking down.

"I see a congratulations is in order." He said, gesturing to the ring.

"Yeah." She smiled, "He's nice. I've met his whole family, we've got a dog."

"That's good, I'm happy for you." Sherlock replied.

"How are you doing? About John, I mean. I know it must be hard seeing him moved on." 

"I'll be fine, you know me." 

"I do know you." She said, "And you should talk to him." 

"I'll try." He said, leaning down and kissing her cheek, "Thank you, Molly Hooper." He then turned on his heel and hurried out of the building, onto the street, heading home. 

Then Mary ran in. Shouting about someone having John.

"Who are you?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"I'm John's girlfriend, Mary." She said, running up the stairs. Sherlock smirked for a second that her title hadn't changed and then snapped into action mode.

"Mary?" He called out. She showed him the phone. Someone had John, it was time to go get him. Rushing through the streets of London to find John filled Sherlock with a sort of horror and exhilaration that he didn't really want to feel. Pulling him out of the fire calmed that dread in the pit of his stomach but the moment Mary nudged him out of the way so she could kiss him, the dread came right back. He stepped back and let her help him up, watching as John smiled at her, reassuring her that he was ok. John glanced over at him as the paramedics arrived, putting the oxygen mask on him, even after he'd reassured them he was ok. Their eyes locked, and some of the anger behind his them was gone, but not entirely. He nodded though, half smiling beneath the mask and as he was wheeled away on a stretcher that he really hadn't needed, Sherlock felt a tinge of hope. Whether it was hope for him and John's relationship or just for their friendship he didn't know, nor did he care. He just needed John back in his life.  

John went to Baker Street the next day and nervously climbed the steps of 221B. He walked in to find Sherlock's parents sitting on the couch.

"Oh hello, John!" His mum said, standing from the couch and embracing him.

"Hello." John said, smiling kindly at the woman, "Sorry to interrupt, I didn't know you'd be visiting."

"They were just leaving." Sherlock said, grabbing his mother from John's arms and pushing her and his father out the door.

"Oh, were we?" She asked politely as they were pushed through the front door. After a brief exchange, Sherlock turned, looking at John.

"Sorry about her, she's very tactile when she's emotional." The detective said, smirking.

"I don't mind." John replied, shuffling awkwardly around the apartment.

"Sorry again..." Sherlock said softly.

"Yeah..." John replied, not wanting to accept his apology just yet, "Last night, Sherlock... Who was that? And why did they target me?"

"I don't know." Sherlock replied, "Well I know why they would target you, but I don't know who it was or why they did it." 

"You know why..." He laughed, "Course, cause to get to Sherlock Holmes you threaten John Watson, everyone knows that." He shook his head, sitting down in his old chair.

"Pardon my assumption, and if I'm wrong feel free to hit me again... But am I correct in assuming Mary doesn't know?" The detective asked, still standing, only glancing sideways at John. The doctor breathed deeply, tapping on the arms of the chair and twisting his mouth a bit before he looked up at Sherlock.

"No." John replied, "She doesn't. And she won't. Because, well it's not her business." 

"It's not?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"No it isn't. Forgive me for saying this, but, you were dead, Sherlock. You weren't coming back. At least not to my knowledge. Why would she have needed to know about ou-" He cut himself off, sniffing and calming himself down, "She doesn't know, and she won't know."

"It's not something she should know? If she's going to be your wife, that is." Sherlock took a shot in the dark, stuffing his hands into his pockets, John laughed in response.

"You saw that, did you?" He sighed. 

"So did she." Sherlock replied, "She would have to have been blind not to see you nervously shove that box back into your jacket. Not very smooth." 

"Shut up." John laughed again, this time more sincere. Sherlock half smiled as their eyes met. Their smiles disappeared and Sherlock nodded, walking over to his wall.

"These are my rats, John." He splayed his arms out, showing off his numerous pictures of many people. And just like that, they were back into the swing of things. Sherlock spouting things off to John who would reply with a simple question that would cause something brilliant to click in the detective's mind.

Then they were searching for the underground network and arrived at the bomb carriage. 

"Forgive me John." Sherlock begged, hovering over the bomb he'd already switched off.

"No this is another one of your bloody tricks." John growled, knowing Sherlock all too well, "You're just trying to get me to say something nice."

"I wish I was... But please, John, if you ever loved me, forgive me." Sherlock said, his hands steepled in front of him. He knew it was a low blow to play that card, but he had to try.

"Of course...." John breathed, seeing the fear behind the detective's eyes, "Don't you..." He shook his head and breathed, "No, you don't say that to me." 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock cried.

"You're sorry, that's perfect. Really. You... Sherlock Holmes. Look, I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."

"I know." He said, hopeful.

"You were the best and wisest man that I have ever known." He sniffed, Sherlock looked up from his prayer position, eyes wide, "Of course I bloody loved you. So yes, of course, I forgive you." He closed his eyes after his confession and waited for the inevitable blast, but it never came. He heard Sherlock begin to snigger and opened his eyes to find Sherlock full on laughing now. He stepped forward, eyeing the shut off bomb.

"I'm sorry." He laughed.

"You..." John said, Sherlock laughed harder, standing up, "You utter..."

"Your face!"

"You cock!" John shouted, beginning to laugh a bit, "I knew it! You fu-"

"You said such sweet things, I never knew you cared." He said simultaneously, both he and John stopped and stared at each other, the tension charged in that moment.

"If you breath a word of this..." John growled.

"Scout's honor." He held up his hand.

"To anyone! You knew!" John began shouting again, "You knew how to turn it off."

"There's an off switch." Sherlock knelt down, pointing at it. He and John shared another look. The police came and they left, heading back to Baker Street. When they arrived they went straight up stairs, it felt slightly like old times, but not completely. If it had been two years before, neither of them would have been able to keep their hands off of the other. 

"I should probably head home..." John said hesitantly after he and Sherlock shared a celebratory cuppa. 

"I suppose so." Sherlock said coldly. John sighed and stood, heading for the door, but turned back to look at him before he went.

"You seem..." He breathed, narrowing his eyes intently at the detective, "Different. Changed."

"Do I?" Sherlock asked, feeling oddly scrutinized. 

"Yes." John nodded, "But, I'm not sure what that means, yet." 

"You'll just have to figure it out." The detective smirked, trying to seem as confident as he could.

"That I will." He half smiled and walked out the door, leaving Sherlock alone in Baker Street.


	25. Chapter 25

John couldn't sleep, he was restless and didn't know what to do. He sighed as Mary shifted next to him, rolling away so her arm was no longer across his stomach and he released a breath, feeling less trapped than before. He knew what was going on and he hated himself for it. He loved Mary, really he did... But he couldn't help himself for loving someone else more. Someone who was supposed to be dead, but now that he wasn't... He sighed again, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed. It was 3:00 in the morning and he didn't have to work the next day. He tapped his toes against the floor, knowing exactly what he was about to do. He just wanted to go see Sherlock, see if maybe there was a case on.

Since the press got wind of his return and heard about him stopping the terrorist attack, his inbox was bursting with clients. John began writing in his blog again, after nearly two years of silence, he'd finally posted. The public's response was about what he'd expected. He stood up, slipping on jeans and a shirt as quickly and quietly as possible and he slipped out the door, opting to send Mary a text message about his whereabouts. 

The night air was cool, not so ridiculously cold that he needed a thick jacket, his light one worked just fine. He walked to Baker Street, the extra time giving him an opportunity to clear his mind, to think about things. Not like it did him any good, by the time he'd arrived at 221B, he was still confused about what he wanted. He unlocked the door and slipped in quietly, pleased that his key did indeed still work. He made sure to creep slowly up the stairs so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't hear and he pushed into the flat. It was quiet, the lights were off. He was surprised to find it that way, he'd assumed he would walk in on Sherlock sitting on the couch thinking or at the table with his face in an experiment. But the whole place was dark, he thought for a moment that Sherlock might not be there until he heard a scream come from Sherlock's room. He sprang into action, running quickly to the door of his room and pushing in. He found Sherlock asleep, screaming as he thrashed about violently. The sight took him for surprise and it took him a moment to collect himself enough to figure out what to do. 

He knew enough about night terrors to know that he shouldn't touch Sherlock so he leaned against the wall instead, and began saying Sherlock's name repetitively. On the sixth Sherlock, the detective stilled, his hands grasping at his duvet, knuckles white. He began shaking then as he turned towards John, sweat doused his pillows and he blinked his eyes, trying to focus.

"John?" Sherlock said, confused as his eyesight focused. 

"Sherlock." John replied calmly, taking a step forward, "Are you alright?" He asked, knowing it was a stupid question the moment it passed his lips, of course he wasn't alright, "You know you're here, right? You're in Baker Street, in London. You're not...." He paused, trying to think of where Sherlock had been in the past two years and realizing they had yet to talk about it, so he didn't know, "Wherever you think you are." He settled on and Sherlock reached out an unsteady hand. 

"John." He said again, this time more pleading, and John obliged, walking to him, taking his hand. Sherlock began to shake again and when John looked up from their hands, even in the darkness, he could tell the detective was crying, however slight it may have been, there were tears falling, "I'm sorry." He said, and he then began a quiet cycle of sorry's. John sighed, bringing Sherlock's knuckles to his lips, the skin brushing against them slightly.

"I know." He whispered, "It's okay." He said softly, resisting his strong urge to pull Sherlock against him and help him calm down, "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, knowing it was a long shot.

"I-" Sherlock began, but stopped, his eyes narrowing through the dark, coming out of his hazed state, "What are you doing here?" He asked, suddenly confused, as if realizing finally that John wasn't supposed to be there.

"Couldn't sleep, thought maybe you were working on a case, decided to drop by. Heard you screaming." John explained quickly, not looking up from his hand, though he knew in the dark Sherlock wouldn't be able to read his panic.

"You could have called." Sherlock said, though his tone held no animosity, and was strictly curious, John was thankful for that.

"I could have." He shrugged, "But a walk sounded like a good idea and I ended up here somehow. Force of habit I suppose." 

"Did you and Mary have an argument?" Sherlock asked suddenly and John shook his head fervently, laughing a bit.

"No." He breathed, staring at Sherlock, "I just wanted to come and see you." His answer was bold, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't mind and in fact, would probably appreciate his honesty. 

"Thank you for being here." He said sincerely, squeezing John's hand a bit with his own.

"You changed the subject." John smiled, "Do you want to talk about your dream?" 

"It was less of a dream, more of a memory." He said quickly and John's eyes widened, even in the dark he could see Sherlock's quick flash of vulnerability.

"Come on." John said, standing, releasing his grip on Sherlock's hand, "I'll make you some tea, we'll talk." He said nothing more and didn't wait for the detective's reply, he simply walked out of the room knowing Sherlock would follow. John shrugged out of his jacket, resting it on his old chair as he set about making tea in the kitchen. A sheet clad Sherlock emerged minutes later, his hair a mess, his cheeks flushed, John took a moment to admire him like that, the way he used to know him. His state made him seem younger, as if the last two years never happened. John walked into the sitting room, handing Sherlock his tea and sitting next to him on the couch, but on the completely opposite end, being sure nothing was touching, he turned to Sherlock. He waited until Sherlock took a few sips of his drink before asking again, "So, what happened?"

"In my dream or in the last two years?" Sherlock asked, throwing John for a loop.

"Whichever one you want to talk about, I'll listen." He replied, pleased with himself as Sherlock sighed, resting his lips against his tea cup as he formulated a response. 

"As you very well know, the last two years weren't easy for me..." He breathed, John said nothing, "I spent a lot of time under cover, hiding who I was, if I was found out, the person who knew had to be eliminated immediately for fear of.... Repercussions."

"Repercussions?" John asked, his brow creasing in concern.

"Yes." Sherlock said, looking to John briefly before looking away again, shifting beneath his sheet he continued, "Had anyone discovered I was alive, the most probable outcome would have been your death. As such, I spent those two years on the run, dismantling what was left of Moriarty's criminal network, so that not only you could remain safe, but so that Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and most likely Molly could as well. It's been hell, John. I won't compare it to war, because it was nothing like that, but it was something akin to it. I fall asleep at night and I can see the people I had to hurt, the people I took out. But I can also see the people that tried to take me out, the ones who captured me, beat me to a pulp. Needless to say, I'm not the same man you knew, loved, even." He stopped talking after that, just continued staring down into his tea, John saw something though, something that told him different.

"Liar." John said suddenly and Sherlock snapped his attention to him.

"I beg your pardon, I-"

"Shut up." John shook his head, "You spent the last two years _with_ Moriarty. I'm not an idiot, I did learn a few tricks from you, and I can see it clear as day. You're broken not because of people you may have murdered, you're broken because of what has happened to you psychologically over that past couple of years." John scooted closer now, and Sherlock turned towards him, his eyes pleading him to stop.

"John." Sherlock warned, but John persisted.

"I could see it, you know. The slight discoloration on your ring finger, from where sunlight couldn't quite reach." He touched that finger, now the same color from top to bottom, but Sherlock knew John was right, John suddenly moved his hand up from the detective's hand to cup his cheek as he looked straight into his eyes, "I don't know what he did to you, or made you do... I can't imagine it was pleasant, and who knows, maybe he made you kill with him. Might have gotten off on that, I could see that." He sighed, running his thumb across Sherlock's cheek and Sherlock leaned into the touch, his eyes falling closed as he remembered how good it felt to be touched even just a small bit by John, "I'm so sorry he did this to you, Sherlock." John's eyes were beginning to burn, tears threatening to break over the lids but he blinked them back.

"It's not your fault." Sherlock assured him, returning the caress, his own hand cupping the opposite side of John's face, "You had no part in this."

"Yes I did." John said sadly, "He threatened my life. If I had never..." He stopped himself but continued again, "If I hadn't initiated a romantic relationship between us, he would have never felt threatened and he would have never come after me, meaning he'd have never forced you to leave with him."

"Is that what you've been telling yourself?" Sherlock asked, his hand dropping to John's thigh as he leaned in, "You're an idiot, only one thing would have stopped him, and that would have been a bullet." 

"I should have known." John said, looking down at Sherlock's hand on his thigh, though he felt defeated he could still feel desire building from that spot as Sherlock's hand spread out, his fingertips brushing along the outside fabric of John's jeans.

"There was nothing you could have done." Sherlock said pointedly and John began moving his hand back into Sherlock's hair, playing lightly with the curls at the nape of his neck as Sherlock brought his head forward, resting his forehead against John's, his eyes falling shut again and John allowed his to as well. 

"I want to make things better." John said softly, Sherlock opened his eyes, looking across the short distance at John who's eyes were still squeezed shut as he continued, "I want to take away all the hurt. All the horrible things you've had to endure in the past two years. I want to take it all away, how can I do that. How can I stop the pain?" His words were pleading, his voice a slight sob and Sherlock's heart broke at them.

"You..." Sherlock sighed, "You're..." He didn't know how to respond, in all honesty, he had no clue what to say. John, however, took it a different way and he moved in, kissing Sherlock lightly, the detective pulled back instantly, knowing how to finish his sentence, "You're with Mary." He said, "You love Mary." He told himself more than John.

"I love you." John corrected him and Sherlock moved in for a kiss this time, more passionate, his tongue slipping into John's mouth with ease, hands gripping at his shirt as John's found themselves tangled in his black locks.

"No." Sherlock said suddenly, pulling away and standing, wrapping his sheet tightly around himself, John stared up at him incredulously. 

"No?" John asked, seemingly hurt.

"No, John. I won't ruin your life again. You've got a chance to have something good and normal. Mary could be good for you, she'll be a steady life, no danger, no crimes to be solved. No insane consulting detective brain to pick apart every piece of you." Sherlock rambled on and John stood, stepping closer to him, his mouth still slightly agape as he stared across at Sherlock.

"Do you realize what an idiot you are?" John asked, "I don't think you understand, that had it not been for me thinking you were dead, Mary wouldn't even be in the picture. I love  _you_  Sherlock, sure she's nice, and beautiful, and amazing... But she's not you. I love solving crimes with you, I love you picking apart every piece and every detail about my life. Christ, I love the danger! You figured that out about me the first night we met. I think it should be clear by now that I love every bit of my life with you. So what some consulting criminal stepped in and tried to ruin everything. But I have you back now. You can't try to remove yourself from the picture because I went out and found a replacement while you were dead." 

"Please, John, I'm trying to save you." 

"Stop trying to bloody save me!" He shouted, realizing he probably shouldn't be so loud as such an early hour, lowering his voice, he continued, "Pulling me from a fire is one thing, thank you again for that... But my life, who I love, who I want to be with... You can't save me from that. The only thing you can do is walk away from me... But I'm asking you to please... Please don't do that. Don't push me away." He walked to Sherlock, taking his hand that wasn't currently wrapped in a sheet and held it to his chest, "Please." 

Sherlock stared, unmoving, blinking only every ten seconds. He didn't know what to say or how to respond, so John did the only thing he could think to do and he kissed him again. He pulled Sherlock's face down to his, crashing their lips together in a tight lipped kiss that ended with a loud smack as he rested his forehead against the detective's, his thumb stroking the skin behind his ear. 

"So..." John said smiling a bit, looking up at Sherlock, his hand still resting on his neck, "What do you say?" 

Sherlock opened his mouth, sucking in an uneasy breath. As he was about to speak there was a creak from the doorway. 

"What's this, then?" Mary stood before them, a confused look on her face, her arms crossed. 

"Bugger." John muttered, smiling awkwardly back at her.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary's caught John and Sherlock in an awkward position, but why is she smiling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG IF ANYONE'S STILL OUT THERE I SWEAR I'M ALIVE! I've just been working two jobs and haven't had a day off for like, a month. SO ENJOY!

Mary stood in the doorway, an indecipherable expression on her face. She leaned against the side of the frame, her arms crossed as John and Sherlock stared at her. John had since laced his fingers in front of him as he stared down at them in shame. 

"John." Sherlock said quietly as he stared at Mary and took in her demeanor.

"What?" John whispered.

"She's not angry." He muttered and John looked up at him quickly, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?" He asked, turning to look at her.

"I'm not angry." She shrugged, the smile still on her face. John nodded and looked back at Sherlock, but then his face fell to the ground as he turned fully towards Mary, his head rolling up slightly as he peered at her.

"Sorry, why aren't you angry?" John asked, "I mean, I'm grateful for the smile, but... You've just caught your boyfriend in his best friends flat in the middle of the night, his hand caressing said best friend's neck while this same man is dressed in a sheet... And you're not angry."

"Nah." Mary shrugged again, her face scrunching slightly, "You're not my boyfriend, you're his." She commented and John's mouth fell into a confused 'o' as he turned to look at Sherlock, who's expression was just as befuddled, "Besides, this means I can stop pretending and get back to my life. My job here is done." 

"What?" John asked again and he saw Sherlock come to a sudden realization.

"You work for him." Sherlock said, closing his eyes as he clenched his jaw.

"Yup." Mary smiled, stepping further into the flat, her hand disappeared behind her back and when it reappeared, she was holding a gun. 

"Mary..." John growled, his hand coming up in front of him in surrender as he took a step back, trying to shield Sherlock.

"That's not my name, John." Mary pouted as she stared at the soldier, who stood up taller, his fist clenching tight, "Oh, I've angered him now, haven't I!" She laughed, tilting her head as she stared at him, "Old war injury and all." 

"You work for Moriarty?" John asked, Sherlock continued to stand still, his eyes closed. 

"Well, worked. Past tense. Brother government made sure of that one, didn't he, Sherlock?" Mary was standing directly across from them now, about six feet away. 

"So if he's gone, why follow through with the plan? Why not just leave?" John asked, anger settling in.

"I don't renege on my deals just cause the client dies." Mary spat, cocking the hammer of her gun back as she pointed it at John, "Deal was, I got in between the two of you. Made sure you didn't go back to him. How much of an arse can you be, John? Didn't even tell your girlfriend about your previous relationship with the supposedly dead consulting detective. Tisk tisk. I really expected better from you." 

"Shut up." Sherlock growled and Mary laughed.

"Quiet Sherlock, don't make me shoot you too. That was a big no no. You get to live." Mary smiled, "He was gonna come back for you, but I guess now he can't!" She shrugged.

"So you're just going to shoot me?" John asked.

"That was the general idea, yeah." Mary said, her accent slipping slightly. Sherlock could hear traces of Russian.

"You don't have to do it, Mary." John tried to reason with her, "You've just spent six months with me, and you're just going to shoot me? You didn't feel anything for me?" 

"If I had it was just ruined, wasn't it? Walked in to see you getting cozy with the ex. That's beautiful, Johnny, it really is." Mary's eyes narrowed at John as she held the gun up steadily.

"So shoot." John dared. Mary smirked but before she could fire, Sherlock stepped around John.

"If you leave now, we won't come after you, we won't try and find you. You can leave, you can be whoever you want, wherever you want. No one will come looking for you, I promise." He said and Mary's eyes widened slightly. John grasped at Sherlock's sheet as he tried to control his anger. Sherlock was trying to save him again, something he'd just asked him not to do. 

"Sherlock Holmes, are you trying to make a plea for your lover's life?" Mary asked, her voice suddenly deeper, more menacing. John almost didn't recognize it. 

"I believe I am." Sherlock replied quickly, his voice the same threatening tone, but his head was held high.

"If someone comes after me, I will kill you." Mary said, and John could hear the hammer on her gun clicking as she uncocked it and stuffed it back into her holster.

"Noted." Sherlock breathed. Then there was silence. John peeked out from behind Sherlock where he felt like he was hiding like a cornered animal. 

"She's gone." He said and Sherlock turned. John stared up at him incredulously and the detective smirked.

"She is." 

"You... Almost got yourself killed. Again!" John shouted suddenly and Sherlock's smile faded as he stared down at John, confused.

"I don't understand." Sherlock said and John stepped back before punching Sherlock firmly in the arm, "Ow! What'd you do that for?" He asked, rubbing his bicep.

"That's for being a bloody git." John sighed as he stepped around Sherlock and headed down the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock shouted after him.

"Where do you think? To bed!" The door to Sherlock's room slammed shut and Sherlock's eyes widened as he hurried down the hall after him. He opened the door slowly, to find John removing his shirt before he crawled into the previously unoccupied side of the bed. Sherlock closed the door without a word and laid down next to John, who's hand suddenly reached out for his. He smiled as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOt rid of Mary! heh.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten Years Later (to be read in the spongebob voice)
> 
> woops sorry... I get so distracted. SO DISTRACteD (I mean, like, I've written a feature length screenplay plus like three finished fan fics since the last chapter of this...). So if there's ANYONE still reading.... here you go... heh.

Just like that, things returned to how they'd been before. Sherlock didn't send Mycroft after Mary and John didn't talk about her. They didn't talk about anything that had happened in the past two years. Occasionally Sherlock would catch John staring at him, but when John snapped out of whatever world he'd gone to, he would smile and squeeze Sherlock's hand. Wherever he was, he'd always walk to Sherlock and squeeze him, as if he was checking to make sure the detective was real. 

"Did Mycroft ever confirm that they got him?" John asked randomly one day while they were heading home from a case.

"What?" Sherlock asked, jarred from his thoughts, he looked at John who was eyeing him hopefully.

"Moriarty... Did Mycroft ever confirm that they took him out?" 

"Didn't Mary sort of confirm that?" He asked and John blinked, continuing to stare, "Yes, Mycroft called shortly after the order was given to confirm that the consulting criminal-"

"Your ex husband." John added, Sherlock sighed.

"Yes... That he was killed. In Belgium." The cab stopped, Sherlock paid and they hopped out, heading into the flat. When they reached the top, Sherlock shrugged off his coat, hanging it up along with his scarf, John did the same. Sherlock stayed standing and John plopped into his chair, crossing his legs as he stared ahead, "Are you ever going to let me forget that?" He asked and John turned back.

"Forget what?" 

"What I did during the time I was away?" Sherlock asked, walking to his own chair and sitting on the edge, his hands coming up into a prayer position beneath his chin as he looked at his flat mate. 

"I'm sorry... Sometimes the rage bubbles over and I can't contain it." John breathed, "Can I ask you why you did it?" 

"Why I did what?" 

"Agreed to marry that psychopath?" John leaned forward, giving Sherlock his undivided attention, the detective sighed.

"I'd escaped. Called Mycroft. I was doing everything in my power to get out of there and find my way back to you. It had been eight months, I knew you must have been going through hell..."

"Bit of an understatement." John interrupted and Sherlock glared, "Sorry... Continue." He let his eyes fall shut as he continued. 

"I just wanted to get back to you, to Baker Street. But Moriarty's men found me before Mycroft's. And... They beat me senseless. I swear I was on the edge of death when he finally came in, his viscousness mixed with his kindness, he unchained me, told everyone to leave the room. It was just us..." Sherlock stopped momentarily, seeming to gather himself and John sucked in an unsteady breath, rage boiling inside him, "It was at that moment that he pulled out a knife. It wasn't anything special. Just a standard run of the mill pocket knife. And he held it to my cheek, asking me why he shouldn't kill me. Saying that he loved me so much and I betrayed him. He could never trust me again... So on. I suggested the only thing I knew would keep him happy, stop him killing me. Stop him killing you." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John who was biting back tears.

"So you married him to save your life?" 

"Yes, well, yours mostly, I didn't care so much about mine at the moment." He stated plainly, "It immediately made him happy. Pleased. He said that I'd be his, and I couldn't betray him." 

"But then, how were you able to come back?" John asked, his face incredulous as he continued to stare into the depths of Sherlock's eyes.

"Our agreement was only supposed to last two years." Sherlock shrugged, "His time was up." John shook his head, in utter disbelief. 

"I just don't understand how you did it. How could you allow him to-" He cut off, his breath quivering slightly, "To touch you. Knowing who he was, what he'd done..." 

"It wasn't easy." Sherlock's voice dropped to just above a whisper. 

"What if he's not dead?" John asked, "What if he's still alive out there, and Mycroft was wrong?" 

"Mycroft is never wrong." Sherlock muttered.

"It  _is_ possible, Sherlock, for someone to get it wrong at least once in their life!" John's voice had raised to a shout again, as it had so many times recently. 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said, "How many times do I have to apologize, it's getting old."

John laughed and scrubbed his hands over his face, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, he breathed in through his nose to steady himself, "Well then there's only one thing we can do. One thing we  _have_ to do... So if he comes back, he can't have you." 

"What?" Sherlock asked, stepping closer to John, his hands rubbing at the soldier's shoulders.

"We have to get married." John said, his eyes opening and finding grey ones staring widely back at him. Sherlock's jaw had gone slack.


End file.
